The Peacock Part III: Azure
by The Kujaku
Summary: Part III of the continuing story finds Ikkaku discovering the truth about Yumichika's zanpakuto as a new enemy looms on the horizon.
1. Chapter 1

_**Dear Reader, Welcome to Part III of The Peacock. I should warn you, this whole volume is an emotional rollercoaster. Lots of readers who are waiting patiently for Ikkaku and Yumichika to come to a peaceful, final relationship will have that patience severely tested; but don't give up! And for those hoping and praying for Yumichika and his pretty peacock to come to terms . . . well, same advice: patience. I have to admit that part III contains a lot of my favorite parts of the story and has been written for quite some time. With a few tweaks here and there, I imagine I can have a chapter a week up. Maybe more. So, I hope you enjoy it. And thank you, everyone, for the reviews. They are most appreciated. Peace, TK**_

Chapter 22 The Truth

"_Many times I've tried to tell you__.  
__Many times I've cried alone.  
__Always I'm surprised how well  
__You cut my feelings to the bone."_

_We Belong  
_Pat Benatar

* * *

"_Do you mind if I join you?"_

_It was a strange request. Ever since that day when Yumichika had shown him his true power, ever since that day when a fifth seat had humiliated a lieutenant, Shuhei Hisagi had kept his contact with Yumichika to a minimum._

_But now, here he was, asking to join him._

_There were at least a dozen empty tables in the pub; so either Hisagi did not want to sit alone or he had a purpose in seeking out Yumichika._

"_Go ahead," Yumichika said. He noticed Shuhei already had a glass in hand, and he could not help but wonder if that was something the lieutenant felt he needed in order to be able to sit face-to-face with the man who had defeated him in such an unexpected and intimate manner, even all those years ago._

"_Now that Koga and Muramasa are both defeated, there's something I wanted to ask you," Shuhei began directly. He was that sort of man: forthright and no nonsense. When something was on his mind, he had no qualms about getting straight to the point._

"_Ask," Yumichika replied. "I'll answer, if I can."_

"_Did it ever occur to you that the relationship between Muramasa and Koga was the same kind of relationship that I have with Kazeshini, and that you have with Fuji Kujaku?" Shuhei proposed._

_This statement did not come as a surprise to Yumichika, for indeed, he had considered the very idea from the moment Muramasa's story became known. _

_Muramasa had belonged to a Shinigami named Koga, a good and decent man who had married into the Kuchiki Clan when Ginrei Kuchiki had been the patriarch and long before Yumichika and Ikkaku had joined the Gotei 13. As a warrior, Koga's skills had been nothing short of magnificent, and he was enlisted to aid in the fight against a rebellious faction in the ranks of the Gotei 13. His prowess soon became a thing of renown, and General Yamamoto appointed him to head up a special forces unit dedicated to eliminating the remaining rebels._

_Of his zanpakuto, Koga could not have conceived a better companion. Muramasa was powerful, full of flattery and praise, and his unique ability to enter the inner worlds of other Shinigami and manipulate their zanpakuto through preying on and enchancing negative emotions was a power of which Koga himself felt a measure of pride._

_Yet, Koga's greatest pride had always been himself; and with his appointment as commander of the special forces, his arrogance grew in proportion to his authority. When it became clear to his fellow officers that he was likely to crush the rebellion single-handedly, the twisted specter of jealousy worked to turn some of those officers against him, for their own glory must not be tarnished at the hands of a man whose position came not of noble blood, but simply by the vulgar means of marrying into nobility._

_The offended officers concocted a scheme to frame Koga as a murderer, bent on a lust for blood, willing to turn on his own soldiers in order to keep the prestige for himself. The plan was only partially successful, for while it resulted in Koga's imprisonment, Ginrei Kuchiki was not convinced that the story was true. When the punishment was handed down, suspending Koga from his position in the 6__th__ Division and, even worse, imposing a sentence of nullification on his zanpakuto, Ginrei refused to accept the verdict. He had seen with his own eyes and heard with his own ears that the Central 46 had been more worried about Muramasa getting out of control than Koga's alleged murder, but until Muramasa was nullified, Koga could not be set free._

_Ginrei had left Koga in the prison as he began the process of trying to figure out a way to secure his freedom and perhaps the rehabilitation of his zanpakuto, for even Ginrei had to agree that Muramasa posed a great danger to the stability of the Gotei 13 – not only in his abilities, but in the feeding of his master's sense of self-importance._

_Leaving Koga to be watched over by only low-level prison guards would prove to be a mistake for which Ginrei Kuchiki would never forgive himself. It had been only too easy for Muramasa to procure Koga's freedom, and what had followed was a rampage that was every bit as violent as the rebellion they had been trying to put down. He began by killing those who had betrayed him, an action he believed to be completely justified. Those in charge of Soul Society did not share his opinion; and when, after a search, Ginrei found him on the outermost limits of Soul Society and announced that he would most likely be executed for his actions, what little restraint had remained inside Koga frayed into pieces. Now, not only had he been betrayed by his fellow officers, but his captain, as well. Everyone was against him._

_The killing spree that followed was something Ginrei laid on his own shoulders._

_But Ginrei was not the only one distressed by Koga's loss of control._

_Muramasa had grown fearful for his master's sanity. The virulent hatred in Koga's heart, the increasing aggrandizement of self, the creeping paranoia – it was all happening so quickly, and Muramasa was unable to stop it. His entreaties to his master to end the killing and begin a new life were rejected, even lambasted. As the days went on, Muramasa found himself more and more on the receiving end of his master's anger and abuse, for Koga had come to believe that even his own zanpakuto was against him._

_The harmony that had once existed between them had grown more and more fragmented until it ceased to exist altogether. Muramasa passed countless days in his inner world in utter silence. Koga had refused to call upon him. It was the isolation of one forsaken, and yet Muramasa never gave up hope. He loved his master too much, and so he awaited the sound of his voice._

_But he never heard it again. _

_The vileness that had built itself up around Koga's heart made it impossible for his commands to get through to Muramasa. To be sure, he had called upon him many times – always for combat, never for companionship – and every time, his calls had gone unanswered. In Koga's mind, his zanpakuto had abandoned him. _

_And that abandonment cost him his freedom, for after months of pursuit, he was finally tracked down by Ginrei and General Yamamoto. In the battle, unaided by Muramasa, he was defeated and sealed away, never to be released._

_If nothing else had been able to break through to Muramasa, Koga's being sealed did. The rage and pain were so violent that Muramasa had felt something was going on. The moment he realized his master was being sealed, Muramasa acted quickly. He manifested into the outside world, well away from the battle, for he knew this was something he could not win. No . . . he must remain free in order that he might figure out a way to free his master, and then . . . then they would reconcile and unite as one again._

_For hundreds of years, Muramasa existed on the paltry spirit energy of whatever hollows he could find. He injected himself into the inner worlds of thousands of zanpakuto, gaining knowledge and leaving without a trace. He had even encountered, on more than one occasion, a strange collection of zanpakuto reiatsu, comingled and always expanding yet with no definable inner world or Shinigami to which they were attached. He began to piece together the actions necessary in order to free his master, and finally, he had enacted his plan._

_The zanpakuto rebellion he'd instigated had only been a single step on the way to gaining the knowledge to break the seal – knowledge that only Yamamoto possessed. He'd managed to trick the Shinigami into thinking that Yamamoto was imprisoned; and in their efforts to free him, they discovered that the captain commander had never been imprisoned at all but rather had constructed a barrier around himself to keep Muramasa from entering Ryujin Jakka's world, wherein the secret resided._

_When the barrier was breached, Muramasa was easily able to retrieve the secret. He also learned where his beloved master was hidden, and he set off to find him._

_It may have been his own selective memory that he could only recall the days of bliss between him and Koga. It may have been wishful thinking. It may have been that so many years had passed since those terrible days of violence that Muramasa had expected Koga's emotions to have lost their edge._

_But whatever it was, it was wrong. Muramasa was wrong. For the moment Koga was free, his first action was to snap his zanpakuto in half, cursing and reviling him. _

_That moment had marked with certainty the end of both Koga and Muramasa. Koga went down to defeat at the hands of Byakuya Kuchiki. Muramasa, abandoned by the master whom he had so loved, for whom he had spent the last two hundred years searching, gave in to the dark energy of all the hollows he had ingested over the years. He met his end at the tip of Ichigo Kurosaki's blade, yet it had not been an unwelcome end. Whatever had happened between Ichigo and Muramasa before Muramasa's death, it had seemed to give the zanpakuto peace-of-mind. In the aftermath, Ichigo had never spoken ill of Muramasa but rather seemed to harbor a sort of sad hopefulness that no one really understood and that he would not explain._

_That great final battle had taken place nearly two months ago, and Yumichika had not been able to elude its implications. And neither, it appeared, had Hisagi._

_Muramasa's manipulation of Koga had resulted, not in the returned devotion so desired by the zanpakuto, but rather in the creation of an egomaniacal monster whose hatred had burned so white-hot that any relationship between master and servant could only exist as disdain and disgust._

_It was the same sort of disdain and disgust that Yumichika often felt for Ruriiro Kujaku, that Shuhei felt for Kazeshini. _

_And everyone knew it._

_The enmity between the two zanpakuto and their masters was not a secret. Yumichika and Shuhei had not made it secret. They were both only too outspoken in their condemnation of their weapons, at the same time as boasting of their abilities, to the extent that Yumichika could boast, given the circumstances._

_But Ruri'iro Kujaku's abilities weren't a secret from Shuhei, and that was why the Ninth Squad lieutenant had sought out the man he had once referred to as a "lowly fifth seat." He certainly did not view him as lowly anymore; and despite the injury to his pride—an injury that still had not healed—Shuhei knew that Ayasegawa was perhaps the only one who could understand the tumult he was feeling._

_Yumichika answered slowly. "It . . . did occur to me, yes."_

"_Does it worry you?" Shuhei asked, his eyes darting suspiciously about the room, checking to make sure no one could hear their conversation._

_Yumichika thought about the question. Did events with Muramasa suddenly make him more fearful of his zanpakuto? Did he now feel that Ruri'iro Kujaku might turn on him or that he might be driven to turn on Ruri'iro Kujaku? Oh, how many hours he had spent mulling those thought, but he still had no answers. The truth was he'd feared Ruri'iro Kujaku for decades now. He'd always known the unstable power he was dealing with, the mercurial nature, the capricious soul inside the zanpakuto. _

_But to see the physical results of a relationship gone bad . . . _

"_I barely have control over him," Hisagi was saying. "Kazeshini loves death so much that . . . seeing him manifested and—and running around like an uncaged animal, killing for the fun of it . . . what part of me houses such a callous disregard for life? What part of me could have given rise to such a despicable creature?"_

"_I think most of us wonder where certain characteristics of our zanpakuto came from," Yumichika replied, adding with a frown. "Although sometimes, it's not really a mystery." A pause. "We just don't want to admit that we're responsible."_

_Shuhei raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying you think I'm responsible for Kazeshini being so violent?"_

_Yumichika looked at him in grave earnest. "In some manner, you have to be." He drew in a deep breath and lowered his eyes to gaze without focus at the table. "I can't pretend that I'm not responsible for Ruri'iro Kujaku's anger. You've seen what he really is, what he can do. He hates me hiding that from everyone. He's very prideful, and he wants to be seen. But that's not the only thing. He doesn't want me to be injured or defeated. He hates the chance I take by not releasing him to his full ability." A pause. "I used to blame him for not understanding my desire to keep him hidden. But it's really not his fault. It's mine. I'm not willing to lose the Eleventh Squad—"_

"_Or Ikkaku," Shuhei interjected._

"_Or Ikkaku," Yumichika confirmed. "And nothing's changed. I'm still not willing to lose him. I'm still not willing to reveal Ruri'iro Kujaku' true abilities. We may stay enemies forever."_

"_That can't be what you want," Shuhei said incredulously._

"_It's not what I want, but what choice do I have? I can't have Ikkaku and reveal Ruri'iro Kujaku's true nature," Yumichika sighed. "Ikkaku would have to change his mind first."_

_Shuhei smirked. "That's not going to happen."_

_Yumichika could not argue._

* * *

Yumichika sat up in bed. Why was he even trying to sleep? That blasted conversation with Shuhei Hisagi, spoken almost six months ago, would not leave his head.

"_I can't pretend that I'm not responsible for Ruri'iro Kujaku's anger."_

It was an admission he'd never made before. It was an admission that now haunted him, for he knew it was true. He knew that he himself was at the crux of all that had gone wrong between him and his zanpakuto.

And yet, he knew he could not change things. He could not suddenly allow Ruri'iro Kujaku his freedom; not without risking everything he held dear. He was not willing to take that chance.

He got out of bed and went to splash some water on his face. Looking at his image in the mirror, he suddenly felt hollow inside.

There had been a time when he could look at his reflection and see Ruri'iro Kujaku behind his eyes. There had been no question but that Ruri'iro was a manifestation of his own soul. They had been so much alike – in temperament, in mannerism, in their appreciation of beauty, especially their own. They had been so close . . .

But now, he couldn't see him at all. They had grown too far apart, increasingly hateful towards each other. And the situation created by Muramasa, while it had brought many zanpakuto closer to their masters, had done much the opposite for Yumichika and Ruri'iro Kujaku, for it had shown Yumichika , in no uncertain terms, just how much better than himself was his zanpakuto.

Ruri'iro Kujaku had had so many opportunities to defeat him, but he had not taken any of them. _Why_ was a question Yumichika could not fathom, given the feelings between them. Yumichika felt strangely humbled by his zanpakuto's restraint. And since humility did not sit well on Yumichika, he had found himself growing more and more distressed as each day had passed. The conversation six months earlier with Hisagi had not helped; in fact, it had confirmed what Yumichika had always kept hidden deep inside.

His own guilt.

He could never change the parameters of his current situation, knowing what losses might ensue. But perhaps . . . perhaps he could apologize.

He returned to his bed, sat down and closed his eyes. Did he even recall how to enter his inner world? It had been so long . . .

"Kimi-san . . . "

Yumichika opened his eyes. Ruri'iro Kujaku stood before him with a stunned and wary look on his face.

But it was only Ruri'iro Kujaku. All the other usual trappings of his inner world were gone. The place, once rich in color and texture, was now completely barren. Only the zanpakuto remained.

"I can't believe it. It's been so long since you've met me here," Ruri'iro said. "After our last meeting, I didn't think you'd ever want to see me again. You haven't called on me since then, not even by that hateful name."

Yumichika looked at him with the usual awe – but with a shadow of sadness. He had always considered Ruri'iro Kujaku to be at his most stunning here in the place where he resided, surrounded by the halo of his own energy. It made Yumichika sad to think that he had lost all appreciation for something he had once loved more than anything else, even though he had never admitted to that love.

"I was afraid," he said at last in a quiet voice. "I didn't know how things would be. You've—you've grown so powerful that I—"

"You defeated me in our last encounter," Ruri'iro reminded him.

"No, I didn't. I know you let me win," Yumichika replied. "For all that talk of killing me, you could have done it a dozen times. But you didn't. I've thought about that for a long time now. I don't understand why you didn't kill me. Isn't that what Muramasa wanted? For the zanpakuto to kill their masters?"

"It was part of his plan—"

"So, why didn't you kill me?"

Ruri'iro gave a small shrug. "Because I wasn't under Muramasa's control."

Yumichika knit his brows. "But, how is that possible? All the zanpakuto were under his control."

"One of the benefits of being kido-based. I'm not easily controlled, as you well know."

"But those things you said to me—"

"Had nothing to do with Muramasa. I said them because they were all true. You hated me, and I hated you back. Even when I tried to win you back by appealing to your sense of beauty, you rejected me," Ruri'iro explained, "Which is why I'm surprised that you're here now. Why have you come after all this time?"

"I don't know," Yumichika replied.

"I can tell from your demeanor you didn't come here because you're ready to accept me and show me to the other Shinigami, so why are you here?" Ruri'iro persisted.

Yumichika shook his head. "I just . . . I felt like I wanted to see you, but I—I—" He didn't know what to say, so he changed the subject. "What happened here? Why is it so barren and cold? It was never like this before."

Ruri'iro looked at him in sad resignation. "It's been like this for years. Ever since we left the glen above Venla, it's been fading. Now, the only thing left is me and the shrine. Everything else that was beautiful and warm and comforting – gone."

And even though he feared the answer, Yumichika asked, "Why is that?"

"Kimi . . . " Ruri'iro sighed deeply. "This place is a reflection of your soul. This is what you've become."

Yumichika felt his pulse quicken. "That can't be true," he protested. "If that's right, then why—why are you still here?"

"Because you have need of me from time to time," Ruri'iro replied, adding with an almost imploring inflection, "Did you learn nothing from what happened between Koga and Muramasa? Is that what you want to happen with us?"

"This isn't the same thing," Yumichika defended. "Muramasa didn't hate his master. You hate me, you can't deny it."

Ruri'iro frowned. "Sometimes, yes. Do you blame me? You're ashamed of me, and you purposefully make me angry in order to keep me hidden. Does such behavior not merit some bit of hatred on my part?"

"You don't understand," Yumichika said, shaking his head.

"Yes, I do. I know exactly why you treat me the way you do," Ruri'iro countered. "You're not a coward, but you _are_ afraid of losing Madarame . . . and your place in that beastly division. You admitted to me when I had you in the vines, but I knew it already. You're afraid of losing something that doesn't suit you to begin with. You've become just like them . . . and that's why everything of beauty has vanished from this place. I'm all that remains . . . and only because I'm useful to you. This isn't how it's supposed to be."

Yumichika was speechless. He felt an ache in his chest that he hadn't felt in a long time.

Sensing his master's distress, Ruri'iro reached out and caressed master's cheek. Oh, how long it had been since he'd touched him in such a manner! It made him realize just how much he longed for his master. "But it doesn't have to be this way. Come back, kimi-san. Things can go back to how they used to be. You remember what it was like back then, all the fun we had. It can be like that again."

Yumichika wanted to believe him – only he knew what losses such a return would entail.

"I can't." The pain was clear in his voice. "I can't. Nothing has changed."

Ruri'iro's hand fell to his side. "What if it never changes?"

"I don't know."

"So, we are to remain estranged from each other for all eternity."

"I don't want that," Yumichika replied earnestly. "But I don't know what we can both be satisfied with." He paused and sighed. "I wish . . . I wish  
that—"

"Yumichika? Yumichika!"

That was not Ruri'iro Kujaku's voice.

Yumichika's eyes snapped open to see Ikkaku staring down at him.

"Ikkaku?"

"Are you sleeping sitting up?" Ikkaku asked with a one-sided grin. "Don't you hear the alarm? Let's go!" He had Yumichika by the arm before the latter could give any kind of response. Yumichika reached out and snatched up his zanpakuto as Ikkaku pulled him out the door.

"What's going on?" Yumichika asked as they headed toward the Eleventh Division's courtyard.

"I don't know. I just heard the alarm and came running," Ikkaku puffed. Running was always a spectacle with Ikkaku, arms flailing, red-faced, cheeks and eyes bulging. Yumichika, on the other hand, seemed to glide effortlessly at his side. "Good thing I passed by your room. You looked like you were in a trance. What were you doing?"

Yumichika saw no sense in lying. "I was talking with Fuji Kujaku."

A look of surprise flashed over Ikkaku's face. "Really? I didn't think you two talked at all anymore."

"We rarely do," Yumichika admitted.

"So, why now? What did he want?"

"He didn't want anything," Yumichika replied. "It was my idea to talk to him."

Now, Ikkaku was truly perplexed. "_You _started the conversation? Does this mean you're finally trying to mend the fences?"

Yumichika grimaced inwardly. In his ignorant bliss and despite his dislike of Fuji Kujaku, Ikkaku had long chastised Yumichika for his poor relationship with his zanpakuto, not knowing that he himself was the basis for that poor relationship.

"I don't want him to hate me anymore," Yumichika replied.

"Well, that's a start," Ikkaku said. "Look, even I have problems with Houzikimaru. You know how lazy he is—"

"But you hide your bankai because you don't want to be made a captain," Yumichika interjected. "That has to make him angry."

"Ha! Houzikimaru would be happy never even to shikai!" Ikkaku said with a gruff laugh.

"You know that's not true."

"Yeah, you're right," Ikkaku admitted. "He likes to fight as much as I do."

They rounded the final corner and entered the courtyard where the rest of the division was assembling. As seated officers, they took their places at the head of the formation and waited for their captain and lieutenant to arrive. Behind them, they could hear the buzz of curiosity. What was going on?

They got their answer in short order when Captain Kenpachi Zaraki strode into the courtyard. He stood in front of his men and came straight to the point. "It looks like our mystery friend is back."

Mystery friend? The squad members looked sideways at each other, wondering what their captain was talking about.

"It's been a long time, but the black demon has shown up again."

The black demon. Now, everyone understood.

The wisp of black cloud that had made its first appearance over a hundred years ago, the same black cloud that had held Yumichika transfixed as it killed others around him, the same black cloud that had eluded every search had apparently shown up again.

Over the intervening years since its first sighting, the cloud had been seen maybe a hundred times; and each instance had been the same. It would appear long enough to kill several Shinigami, and then it would vanish. It had never attacked civilians – only members of the Gotei 13.

"R&D"—referring to the Research and Development Institute of Squad Twelve—"detected a disturbance in Zone 42 East. It's signature matches that of the demon. The old man's ordered Eleventh Division to investigate." A wry grin curled Zaraki's lip, for it was an established fact that the Eleventh didn't _investigate_. "Let's go."

It was only a matter of a several dozen shunpo steps to arrive at the coordinates provided by the Research and Development Institute, being that the travel was over fairly open ground.

The Eleventh Division alit on the top of a low ridge on one side of a narrow valley.

On the rise opposite was the reason for the alert.

The cloud, no longer wispy but instead dense and swirling, hovered low to the ground. It's size had greatly increased to the point where it stretched at least a hundred yards long, rose up to the height of a five-story building, and it stretched back over the hillside in hidden width.

"Where the hell could that thing have been hiding all this time, grown to that size?" Ikkaku asked.

Zaraki merely grinned wickedly. "Who cares? It's here now. I've been waiting a long time to fight this thing."

Yachiru bounced up and down excitedly on his shoulder. "Ken-chan! Yay! Let's go!"

Zaraki shook his head. "Yachiru, you stay here until I check it out."

Ikkaku took a step forward. "Let me go with you, captain."

"No," the captain replied. "This one's mine." With that, he strode down the hill and halfway up the other side to within twenty yards of the cloud, which had not moved from its spot, but seemed to be patiently awaiting Zaraki's approach.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

There was no response.

"I said, who are you?" Zaraki repeated, taking a daunting step forward.

But still he was met with silence – no reaction at all.

"Well, if you're not going to answer me, then I guess I'll have to rephrase the question." He drew his sword.

Watching him from the slope behind, Yumichika commented," Already drawing his sword – so like the captain."

"I wish I were over there with him," Ikkaku said. "That thing gives me the creeps."

"It _is_ ugly, isn't it?" Yumichika agreed. "And it feels . . . sinister."

Ikkaku gave him a somewhat surprised look. "You can feel that thing? Its reiatsu?"

Yumichika narrowed his eyes. "It _is_ reiatsu, but it's so twisted, I can't . . . it doesn't feel like any reiatsu I've ever encountered before. It's much more powerful than the last time I encountered it."

"What does it feel like?" Ikkaku asked.

Yumichika hesitated, trying to find the best word. At last, he settled on, "Lust."

"Lust? Did you say lust? What kind of shit is that?"

"A lust for hatred and . . . I don't know. I can't put my finger on it, but that thing is . . . full of hate," Yumichika said in a puzzled voice.

Ikkaku was pensive for a moment. He wasn't surprised that Yumichika was able to sense certain things that he was not. Yumichika had always been an ideal receptor for sensations and energies that others missed. But he had not forgotten that Yumichika had almost lost his life to this thing, had been frozen in place, mesmerized . . . and if were grown more powerful now, that might put Yumichika in greater danger.

Ikkaku returned his attention to Zaraki on the slope. The cloud was completely undisturbed by the introduction of the sword. And when Zaraki, in a lightening fast lunge, drove towards the creature, Ikkaku felt confident that the battle would be short-lived.

He was wrong.

In a flash of black light, the cloud contracted into a single compact entity. Its diffuse darkness was replaced with a coal-black solid body, broad and sinewy and , standing at least ten feet tall. Its skin, smooth like oil, rippled and roiled like a grassy field blown by the wind. The lower part of its body split into many tentacle-like legs, while the upper part, double-thoraxed, sprouted multiple twitching, pincer-like arms. There was a head but with no discernible facial features, although a faint yellowish glow pulsated in the center of the head mass.

The creature extended one of its arms which instantaneously took on the shape of a sword and parried the attack without effort.

Zaraki took a step back. "That's a neat trick. I wonder what else you can do."

Again, he attacked, bringing his sword down from overhead this time.

Another easy deflection.

Zaraki engaged fully now, swinging and hacking, and all the time, laughing maniacally at his failures. Then something unexpected happened. Several of the arms, seven or eight, elongated and separated into individual entities, each taking on the shape of their progenitor.

"Ah, now that's more like it!" Ikkaku crowed with a gleam in his eye. He turned to the rest of the squad. "Now, there's enough for everyone! This is where we come in!" Then, with deference to Yachiru, "Right, Lieutenant?"

"That's right, baldy!"

And with that, the Eleventh Division leapt into the fray. Within seconds, however, the excitement turned to horror. It became clear that the creatures' mode of attack was to use their lower tentacles to ensnare their victims who, within a matter of seconds, dissolved into thin air.

Yumichika knew the manner of attack all too well. He had seen this creature in action before.

But that wasn't all. This was also Ruri'iro Kujaku's preferred manner of combat. Ensnare and siphon. These creatures were sucking the reiatsu out of the victims, and any attempt to injure them met with the mutation of a body part into a weapon.

Warning shouts went up but were of no avail. It was nearly impossible to avoid the tentacles, for once they reached the length of their extension, they simply broke loose and formed a new creature.

Given the similar abilities of Ruri'iro Kujaku and the enemy, Yumichika wondered if his zanpakuto might be able to shed some light on the nature of the creature.

If he could lure one of them away . . .

It turned out that he didn't need to try. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a tentacle shooting in towards him. He dodged just in time and turned to see one of the creatures heading for him. Unlike the first encounter at the mouth of the cave below the sand dunes, this time, Yumichika did not fall into a trance. He considered that he had grown as a warrior and was much more in control of himself and his faculties than he had been. He needn't be afraid of facing this creature alone.

_"Perfect!"_ he said to himself. _"Now, let's see if it will follow me."_

Not only did it follow, but it nearly overtook him. Even using shunpo, Yumichika was astounded when the creature matched his every move. He found himself in a fully defensive posture, but he was not worried. Soon, he would be out of sight and able to use shikai.

He was successful in luring the creature to an isolated area; and now that he had done so, he had no intention of dithering around. The idea of bringing Ruri'iro Kujaku out in this place did not worry him. He was certainly alone.

"Sakikirue, Ruri'iro Kujaku." Yumichika gave the command in a steady voice, despite the creature's concentrated effort to ensnare him.

They were not words that the peacock heard very often, and so he did not hesitate.

In a flash of azure light, Ruri'iro Kujaku came to life.

* * *

"How the hell do we stop these things?!"

Ikkaku looked at the frantic Shinigami beside him. He should have known the man's name – they were both in the same division after all, but Ikkaku was not big on names – or faces for that matter.

"Who cares?!" he replied jubilantly. "Just enjoy the battle!"

Not far from him, he could hear the laughter of his captain. And it pleased him to think they were so much alike. The fact that his division was not winning and many soul reapers were succumbing to the creatures' tentacles hardly seemed to matter. And it never struck Ikkaku that his indifference was odd or callous.

So, he fought on, impervious to the wounds he was accumulating. As long as he didn't get caught, he could fight forever. And then, it occurred quite by accident – a random jab pierced one of the creatures' heads and the glowing ball within. There was an explosion of jumbled reiatsu, and when the dust had settled and Ikkaku scrambled to his feet, the creature was gone.

"That's it," he said under his breath, then louder. "That's it! That's it! You can destroy them by piercing the ball in their heads!"

The word spread quickly, although dealing the death blow was not so easy. The creatures seemed to anticipate attacks to the head, and they were quick not only to defend but to seize any opening on their attackers' parts.

More Shinigami fell.

Eager to be praised for his discovery, Ikkaku turned to looked for Yumichika. Not seeing him, he felt a moment of panic. Had Yumichika fallen? Damn it! He had intended to keep an eye on him, knowing his previous encounter with the creature; but then his own lust for battle had burst upon him, and he'd lost all awareness of anything else. He calmed himself long enough to search for Yumichika's reiatsu. He found it right away, and it pummeled him with its power. Ikkaku had intensified his own senses before in order to sense someone else's reiatsu, but this time it was as if he'd been hit by a tidal wave.

That is was Yumichika's reiatsu was unquestionable – the exotic sultriness of it was proof enough – but this was mind-boggling. Never before had Ikkaku felt such power coming from Yumichika. It actually frightened him. Suddenly, he felt the need to find him, to make sure he was all right, to find out what was going on. He took one last look at Zaraki, envied him his reckless abandon, and set off in the direction of Yumichika's reiatsu.

All hell had broken loose the moment Yumichika had released Ruri'iro Kujaku. It was as if the zanpakuto and the creature, recognizing each other as possessing the same abilities, had cast aside all restraint and immediately gone for each other. This, Yumichika realized, was the very same recognition and attraction that had happened in the cave. The cloud, in its nascent stages, even then had known it was facing a power akin to its own, a threat to be countered and eliminated.

Now, the glowing green and azure vines of Ruri'iro Kujaku reached and twisted about the black tentacles with a force that Yumichika had known even existed in his zanpakuto. He could not control the weapon, and in fact, had been knocked flat on his back at its release. He'd kept his grip on the hilt, and now he was back on his feet, struggling with both hands to hold on.

The wicked energy emanating from the creature flared, and the yellow light in the head deepened to crimson. It sent a chill rattling through Yumichika's body. There was something so evil, so insidious in the creature's energy that Yumichika felt himself sinking into despondency, and although he knew he was succumbing, just as he had last time, he was powerless to stop it. Ruri'iro Kujaku was doing all the fighting; Yumichika was just hanging on. He teetered and dropped to one knee beneath the dark weight of the energy.

"Ruri'iro . . . Kujaku . . ." His words were breathless.

He felt a spasm ripple through the air around him. Maybe it had been in his body, as well. It was like a constriction that was over no sooner than it had started. Barely conscious and with Ruri'iro Kujaku still clutched in his hand, Yumichika collapsed to the ground as a cloud of black dust settled around him.

He felt something wrap around his wrist. Slowly, his senses began to clear, and his energy returned. He sat up. Ruri'iro Kujaku was glowing quietly in his hand, the retracted vines still undulating gently like plants in the tide.

"Idiot!" The chastising voice was inside his head, but clear as a bell.

He could not argue with his zanpakuto. He _had_ been an idiot.

"Did you think that monster was going to let you observe it? Or that I could have a nice friendly chat with it?! You saw how it attacked right away once you called me out; it knew I had the same power, and it didn't want me taking all the reiatsu it's gathered—"

"But you defeated it—"

"Almost at the cost of losing you," Ruri'iro chastised.

Yumichika knit his brows. "I don't understand."

"Of course you don't. You're still like a child! Has that beastly division sucked all your brains out?" Ruri'iro scolded. "The reason you could feel that thing's energy is because it's the same kind of energy you have – the same kind I have."

This idea disgusted Yumichika. "What do you mean by that?"

"It's an energy that can feed off the energy of others, but the difference is . . . I may take others' reiatsu, but I can still generate my own. That thing needs the reiatsu of others to survive, to keep growing."

Yumichika shook his head. "That thing had a heavy, aggressive energy, a wicked energy. I refuse to believe my reiatsu is like that."

"It's the same nature, not the same character. But that's not my point. When I started draining that thing of its energy, it was still able to crush you. You were sinking, so I had to absorb all its energy at once." Seeing his master's blank stare, he went on, "I hate doing that because it overwhelms you. You're still not strong or experienced enough to wield me properly."

"But if you absorbed so much dark energy—"

"There's no such thing as dark energy or evil energy. Reiatsu is reiatsu. It's only the motives and intentions of the bearer that make it evil or good. That's why you've always been able to take some of my energy to heal yourself – no matter whose reiatsu I've absorbed."

Yumichika felt like the child he'd been accused of being. It occurred to him that he could have learned all these things long ago if only he'd had the courage to embrace his zanpakuto. He felt foolish.

"Did it hurt you to absorb that thing's energy?" he asked meekly.

"Hurt? No. Disgust? Yes. I hate coming into contact with anything ugly."

After a moment's hesitation, Yumichika offered humbly, "You saved me."

Ruri'iro could not believe how thick-headed his master could be. "Why are you surprised? Isn't that what we zanpakuto are supposed to do? Keep our masters alive? Of course, I saved you. You're still so naive that you need someone to watch out for you."

It was mild patronization, but Yumichika knew it was well-meant. He could hardly believe it, but for the first time in decades, he felt something other than animosity towards the peacock.

He gave a one-sided grin. "I never thought you'd be that someone."

"I've always been that someone, but I can only do it when you let me." Ruri'iro paused. "Are you feeling better? I gave you some of my reiatsu earlier. Do you need more?"

"No," Yumichika replied. "You may return, Ruri'iro Kujaku."

The glowing vines receded into the hilt, and the cold metal of the sword reappeared.

Yumichika scabbarded the weapon, got to his feet, and prepared to return to the battle. His conversation with Ruri'iro Kujaku had given him fresh motivation. He could definitely sense a turn in their relationship – a turn for the better.

He began to head up the hill and stopped in his tracks. At the top of the rise before him stood Ikkaku. Yumichika hadn't even noticed his reiatsu, so engrossed had he been with Ruri'iro Kujaku and the creature.

He felt it now, but he could discern nothing from it. Just how much had Ikkaku seen? And if he had seen everything, what would his reaction be? This was a moment Yumichika had long feared, but he was not yet convinced that it was a moment whose time had come.

He drew in a deep breath and continued up the hill.

Ikkaku spoke immediately once Yumichika was within hearing distance. His voice was low and guarded.

"You defeated your enemy?"

Yumichika, despite his unease, smiled as if it were all in a day's work. "It was easy."

"I'll bet it was," Ikkaku acknowledged, regarding him with scrutiny. "You don't have a scratch on you."

Yumichika heard something in Ikkaku's voice that gave him pause. There was a coldness, an almost accusative tenor that took a bit of the edge off Yumichika's usual cockiness.

"Well, there never is, is there? You know I—I would never allow anything to happen that would mar my perfect beauty," he said, maintaining his aloofness on the surface only.

"Yeah." Ikkaku's curt, brusque response increased Yumichika's concern, but Ikkaku's next words dropped like cement blocks around his ankles. "It looked like you had a little help."

"Help?" Yumichika managed to squeeze out after several seconds' hesitation, a terrible fear forming in the pit of his stomach.

Ikkaku waited a long time before speaking again. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

Yumichika's mind was racing. Ikkaku had definitely seen something, but how much? Yumichika had to be careful how he proceeded.

"No," he replied. "Why do you ask?"

Ikkaku did not reply but only stared at Yumichika with an expression of such . . . what was it? It was a look Yumichika had never seen before.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I saw you." Ikkaku's voice was hard as stone. "I saw you fighting. I saw _how_ you defeated your enemy."

Yumichika was still and silent. He could not have spoken even if he'd had an idea what to say. He'd felt terror before – that much was certain – but this was an altogether different matter. This was a sense of unavoidable disaster – and this time, there would be no one to fall back on, no one to turn to. His greatest support—perhaps his only support—hung in the balance.

"Are you still sure you have nothing to tell me?" Ikkaku pressed. But when he was met again with silence, a bitter glare crept into his eye. "So, even now, after I've told you that I saw what happened, you still won't come clean? You're going to keep on lying to me. Why should anything change after all these years, right?"

"I didn't lie," Yumichika said in a near-whisper.

"You hid the truth from me," Ikkaku shot back. "That's the same thing."

"Ikkaku—"

"It's bad enough you kept your bankai hidden all this time, but it's worse that the nature of that bankai is kido!" Ikkaku stormed a few paces away then turned and fixed him with eyes blazing like fire. "You're in the Eleventh Division! You knew the rules about kido, and yet you went ahead and cultivated a kido-based bankai! You deceived all of us."

Yumichika drew in a steadying breath and said softly, "That wasn't my bankai. That was the true form of my shikai, Ruri'iro Kujaku."

Ikkaku stared at him in bafflement. "What?"

"I haven't even started to learn bankai. I can barely control him in shikai." He frowned in exhausted resignation. "He does as he pleases. He's more the master than I am. We've hated each other for so long, we'll never achieve bankai. We've only just started to make amends."

"That—that was your shikai?" Ikkaku's voice was unintentionally incredulous.

Yumichika nodded with averted eyes.

"Then . . . Fuji Kujaku . . . "

"Was only a partial release," Yumichika explained. "I knew how things were in the Eleventh Division. I knew you and the captain wouldn't understand, so I—I started, before you and I ever came to the Seireitei—I started calling my zanpakuto Fuji Kujaku, because I knew he hated it, and it was the only way I could suppress his true form. He couldn't understand why I did it, and he hated me for it. And I—I hated him, because he wasn't what I wanted."

Ikkaku had not got his head around the idea that the power he had just witnessed was shikai – and an inexperienced one at that – much less the entire explanation of a shinigami's estrangement from his own zanpakuto. As much as he hated to admit it, the whole thing was a bit humbling.

And disturbing.

What kind of power did Yumichika possess that had not been even remotely tapped? And was that power also kido-based? Yes, of course it was. It was plain as day now: _Yumichika_ was kido-based.

"How long have you been able to do that?" he asked at last.

"To do what?"

"Bring forth that—that thing."

"Since Venla," came the soft-spoken answer.

"Since Venla?" Ikkaku could barely speak, he was so stunned. "You've been able to do that since Venla? And you've managed to keep it hidden all this time?"

"You were gone a lot, and Ruri'iro Kujaku kept me company. We trained together every day, and he taught me so much . . . we had fun together in those days. I—I was excited about showing him to you, but then things changed. You left before I could introduce you, and after that, I knew you'd never be able to accept him. And then Kenpachi Zaraki came along and the Gotei 13. If I wanted to stay with you, I couldn't let anyone know about Ruri'iro Kujaku."

Ikkaku grit his teeth. "I don't believe this. All this time . . . " He fixed Yumichika with a piercing gaze. "What does that thing do? It looked like it was draining that creature of all its spirit energy."

Yumichika's silence was confirmation enough.

"Your zanpakuto drains others of their spirit energy?"

Yumichika nodded once.

"That's a disgusting way to fight," Ikkaku ground out.

"That's why I tried to keep him hidden, to keep him from fully releasing—"

"It doesn't matter if you keep it hidden," Ikkaku cut him off. "That doesn't change the truth. Your zanpakuto is kido-based – and not just that, but a form of kido that feeds off the energy of others." He stopped and stared with a realization. "How could I have been so blind all these years? I—I was just a stupid idiot! That's what you must have thought, right? It's so clear now! That thing—that thing is just like you! I get it now—the way you could mesmerize people just by looking at them. You drained them of their wills—"

"It's not like that—"

"That's exactly what it is!" Ikkaku persisted. There was a long pause, and when he spoke again, his voice was shaking. "And I was too dumb to realize it. All these years . . . I should have seen the truth." He pinned Yumichika with a look of such pain and anger, such betrayal as Yumichika had never thought possible. "You aren't who I thought you were. I feel like I don't even know you anymore." He turned and started to walk away.

"Ikkaku!" Yumichika cried out. "Ikkaku, please! Don't walk away from me!" He rushed to walk beside him. "I didn't want to deceive you, but I had no choice! I knew you—you wouldn't approve of him, so—"

"Wouldn't approve?'' Ikkaku stopped walking and faced Yumichika. "Wouldn't approve? You think this is about approval? You don't get it at all. This is about _you_. It's about what you are."

Yumichika shuddered. "_What_ I am?"

"Your energy, your spirit . . . it's all kido. And you can't change that. You're not like the rest of us in the division, and you never can be." He closed his eyes as if in pain. "Lying about your power is the least of the things wrong here."

Yumichika realized he was trembling. "What do you mean?"

"You're not—you're not of the same nature as the rest of us. You don't belong in the Eleventh Division."

"Don't say that," Yumichika pleaded. "I—you never would have known if you hadn't seen me—"

"It doesn't matter, Yumichika. You're who you are. But you're not who we thought you were. You just . . . you don't belong." He started to walk away again. "Not in Zaraki's division, anyway. You need to find someplace else."

Yumichika was panicked. "You can't mean that."

"I do mean it."

"What—what are you going to do? Are you going to tell the captain?"

"I'm not going to say anything to anyone," Ikkaku replied. "I want to put this whole thing behind me."

Yumichika had never felt so desperate in his life. "What about me? I need—I need you to forgive me."

Ikkaku grimaced. "It's not about forgiveness. It's about moving on from here and putting our acquaintance behind us."

"Our . . . _acquaintanc_e? What about our _friendshi_p?" Yumichika asked.

Ikkaku was cold. "There is no friendship anymore."

Yumichika could not move. Ikkaku's words seared into his brain and burned a hole through his heart. He could only stare as Ikkaku walked away. No words, no thoughts would come into his head. The only thing he could feel was a horrible sense that everything had come to an end.

He dropped to his knees. That was as far as he would allow his composure to deteriorate. He feared if he let his emotions go too far, he would give away to others the secret that Ikkaku had vowed to keep.

He didn't know it was already too late.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Dear Reader, this chapter is nice and short. I have a feeling a may brown off a few Zaraki fans here, but I had to write the Squad Eleven Captain as I see him. No insult intended! I also wanted to add a note: when I originally wrote The Peacock series, it started at this point in the story (Part III, Chapter 1 was actually the very first chapter), and the meeting at the well and all its subsequent events were shown in flashback, interspersed with returns to the present "demon battles." As such, originally, these chapters had much more character description in them, since these were the first times the characters were being introduced. But with the rewrite, we've now known these characters for, oh, I dunno, 500,000 words? So, I am doing editing as I go, but I still expect to have a pretty good post rate for getting the chapters up. Just a warning that if I may have missed a few "repeat descriptions"._**

**_Also, the song I use here . . . I really can not stand George Michael for a variety of reasons (sorry, GM fans!), but this is the one song he sings that I absolutely love. If you ever feel inclined, find it on Youtube and give it a listen. I think it fits very well with the storyline._**

**_Peace, TK_**

Chapter 2 The Dismissal

"_Take me back in time.  
__Maybe I can forget,  
__Turn a different corner,  
__And we never would have met."_

_A Different Corner  
_George Michael

* * *

A bell was ringing. Far away, across many thousands of miles.

But it was a sound he had become so attuned to, it could reach him no matter where he was – or what state he was in. It crossed over to him through the channels in his mind as opposed to wavelengths in the air.

It was a sound he had never fled from. It was the summons . . . for Eleventh Squad.

Yumichika's eyes shot open. He was still sitting on the ground in the place where Ikkaku had left him.

The thought came to him fleetingly that perhaps the whole scene had been a dream and that Ruri'iro Kujaku's true power was still a secret.

But that hope would not stand. Yumichika knew the difference between a waking truth and a dreamed fantasy.

How long had he been sitting here, oblivious to the time and everything around him? It had been early morning when they had gone out to meet the enemy. Now, judging by the sun's position, it was mid-afternoon. What had transpired in those intervening hours? Was the battle over? Which side had won?

Where was Ikkaku? And had he told anyone what he had seen?

Yumichika got to his feet and used flashstep to return to the Seireitei. He stopped first at the battlefield, only to find it strewn with black dust. Trees were splintered. Deep furrows scored the ground. There was nothing to indicate which side had been victorious, and Yumichika did not have time to investigate. Selfish as it might have been, he had much more pressing concerns on his mind.

By the time he arrived at the Squad Eleven barracks, the rest of the squad was already assembled. He was the last to arrive, and as he took his place in the formation, he felt self-conscious that everyone was looking at him.

Or was he just imagining it?

His gaze went naturally to Ikkaku, who stood in his usual place in formation and was staring fixedly ahead; but Yumichika could feel the anger and betrayal still swirling in his reiatsu. He wondered if others could sense it as well.

After several seconds, Captain Zaraki strode out of the barracks and stood in front of them. Yachiru was on his shoulder.

"Well, we finally got a good look at the enemy today. And we found out what they can do. We lost a lot of men before we finally we figured out how to kill them," he began. "And even though we were successful in driving them back to wherever they came from, Old Man Yama thinks this was only a preliminary attack – a probe to test our defenses. We still don't know who they are or what they want, but we can bet they'll be back – and maybe not as easy to defeat next time. I'm putting Madarame in charge of a training program to fight these bastards, so we don't have the same casualties as this time. The Old Man has sent Squad Six out on patrol to watch for any more incursions, but if there's any fighting to be done, it will be the Eleventh Squad that does it."

There was a murmur of agreement. It was clear that the last sentence was not an official position but rather Captain Zaraki's personal desire, and the entire squad had a shared belief that the hated Sixth Squad should never get any of the glory that only the Eleventh Squad deserved.

"I've got another piece of business," Zaraki continued. "And I hate bull-shitting around, so I'm going to come straight to the point," he said. "Everyone in this squad knows our rules about fighting. Everyone knows kido isn't welcome here."

Yumichika felt faint. Zaraki knew! Ikkaku had lied to him – he'd told Captain Zaraki!

"And there are two things I hate: warriors who depend on kido instead of physical strength to win their battles . . . and then lie about it, "Zaraki went on. "I won't tolerate either one of those things. But when someone does both – and is an officer besides, he brings disgrace to all of us."

The rest of the squad stood in silent puzzlement. Who could their captain be talking about?

Yumichika looked at Ikkaku, who refused to look back.

"To that man . . . you know who you are," Zaraki continued. "I won't humiliate you here in front of everyone. You've been a loyal officer, but the rule stands. When we break this formation, I don't want to see you in the next one."

Yumichika didn't care if he were humiliated or not. He could not let this happen. He took a desperate step forward. "Captain—"

Zaraki looked at him with such an expression that he fell immediately silent.

"No, not anymore. I'm not your captain. I wanted to spare your pride and not embarrass you in front of the rest of the squad, but you've done that to yourself now. And it doesn't change my decision," Kenpachi said grimly.

Yumichika's gaze turned to the rest of the squad, who were all looking on in shock. They could not believe that their fifth seat was the offender. He then looked urgently at Ikkaku, but Ikkaku would not look at him.

"Don't blame Madarame," Zaraki said. "He kept his word. He didn't tell me. I have other sources."

"Captain please . . . let me explain," Yumichika begged.

"I don't care about any explanations. I know everything I need to know," Zaraki replied. On his shoulder, Yachiru had a sad expression on her face, but she kept silent. "Clear out your room in the officers' quarters."

Yumichika's gaze went once again towards Ikkaku. This time, he met Ikkaku's eyes, but only for a brief moment before Ikkaku looked away in disgust.

Yet, Yumichika continued to stare at him, unwilling to believe that he would so easily turn his back on over one hundred years of shared devotion. And suddenly, he felt cheated. He had hidden Ruri'iro Kujaku's true power all those years with the hope that one day things might change and he might be able to reveal his zanpakuto's true nature to Ikkaku. But now he realized that he had been deceiving not only Ikkaku and everyone else, but himself as well. It was clear that Ikkaku was incapable of accepting what he had discovered. He was not rejecting Ruri'iro Kujaku; he was rejecting Yumichika. Yumichika's hopes had, all along, been illusory at best, delusional at worst. He had allowed the moments of joys past to crowd out the obvious: Ikkaku's fondness for him had been based on a lie, on the presentation of a persona that was only a partial truth. And now that Ikkaku knew what he really was, the illusion was shattered, and with it, every kind feeling Ikkaku had ever felt towards him.

"I said, go."

Zaraki's voice scattered his thoughts. Yumichika faltered for a moment, then turned abruptly and ran from the courtyard.

Ikkaku did not watch him go. Even the thought that he might never see him again could not overcome the hurt and anger he was still feeling. But despite such emotion, he was determined to appear professional and unaffected in front of the rest of the squad, for he knew that surely, they were watching his reaction.

"Let that be a lesson to all of you." Captain Zaraki was speaking. "Rules are made for everyone, and no one is irreplaceable. Not even one of our best officers."

Ikkaku heard the total lack of concern in his captain's voice. Yumichika's dismissal had been nothing more than a simple firing to him. That Yumichika had been a competent – certainly the most organized and meticulous - and a faithful officer for a century or more meant nothing to Zaraki. He had no compassion for Yumichika's plight, much less concern for any pain Ikkaku might be feeling.

_"But that's what you like about him,"_ Ikkaku reminded himself inwardly. _"He doesn't let emotions get in the way. He's tough and he stands by his own rules. That's why you followed him here to the Seireitei. That's why you joined his squad. That's why you've followed him all these years. He's been more honest than Yumichika. He doesn't need to feel sorry for what's happened, and neither do I."_

But there was one nagging question: how had the captain found out? Who else had seen what had happened? And how was Ikkaku to convince Yumichika that he had not been the one to tell Zaraki? It then occurred to Ikkaku that he did not have to convince Yumichika of anything. He owed nothing to Yumichika, and if Yumichika were being drummed out of the Eleventh, then Ikkaku might not even have the occasion to speak with him any time soon – or at all.

"Madarame."

Ikkaku's head jerked up at the sound of Zaraki's voice.

"I want a training program in place by tomorrow."

"Yes, Captain," he acknowledged, knowing full well as he watched his captain and lieutenant walk back towards the barracks that he alone would be responsible for making sure the squad was prepared to confront the latest enemy. Zaraki and Yachiru had rarely taken part in developing training regimens – or anything else pertaining to squad readiness, for that matter; and so Ikkaku viewed his latest tasking as the standard. Only, this would be the first time he'd not had Yumichika there to help him—indeed, to carry the bulk of the load.

But there was another first, as well. It was the first time Ikkaku had taken issue, even if only privately, with his captain's method of leadership. Still, perhaps the callousness was for the best. The sooner the shock of the day's events wore off, the sooner Ikkaku could stop feeling the competing demands of guilt, anger, and betrayal.

The sooner he could put Yumichika out of his thoughts.

* * *

Yumichika entered his room in the officers' quarters, and braced himself against the wall. His heart and his thoughts were racing. His left hand went, by habit, to rest on the hilt at his waist. But this time, the touch served to start a blaze inside him. In a fit of anger, he slid his scabbarded zanpakuto from beneath his obi and threw it violently against the opposite wall, where it clattered to the floor beside the bed. He took several deep breaths and tried to regain some control of his turmoiled emotions. He didn't know what to do. Things were unraveling fast, and he was at a complete loss how to stop them. He was shaking and felt nauseous. He had to get a hold of himself.

He moved over to sit down on the bed and gather his wits.

One thing he knew for sure, and it stunned him: If he could not be in the Eleventh Squad, he would not remain in the Gotei 13. If he could not be with Ikkaku, he would not stay in the Seireitei. And it was clear he could have neither the Eleventh nor Ikkaku. That meant he had no choice but to leave.

It was a complete turn from the dogged determination he'd always had to stay by Ikkaku's side, no matter what the difficulties. This time was different. Ikkaku had rejected him for what he was, rejected him at the very core of his being; and the pain that accompanied such a denunciation was sharp and deep, almost unbearable.

Yumichika had not just lost his place in the Eleventh. He had lost his place in Ikkaku's life.

And that was devastating.

He got to his feet, still shaky, and retrieved a small satchel from the garderobe.

For someone who loved beautiful things and had once owned many nice items, his inventory had shrunk dramatically since coming to the Gotei 13. In addition to his uniform, he now owned perhaps a dozen kimonos and two sleeping shifts. He had a collection of the colorful feathers he used to adorn his right eye; but he was not going to take these with him. They were part of who he was here – in the Gotei 13, in the Seireitei. They would stay here. Just as would his uniform and the non-regulation orange neck-and-wrist piece he wore as a statement of beauty. He undressed then folded the uniform and left it on the bed.

He began filling the satchel, taking only two kimonos and one shift, working hard to control his emotions while hoping and praying that Ikkaku would come and tell him the whole thing had been a mistake.

But he knew that was not going to happen.

"Kimi-san?"

Yumichika's spine stiffened at the sound of Ruri'iro Kujaku's voice.

"Go away," he demanded. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Master, please . . . "

Suddenly, Yumichika realized the voice was not inside his head. He turned to see the spirit of his zanpakuto standing there before him. Anger and hatred like never before swelled up within him.

"You—you bastard!" he spit out in a venomous voice. "You're the reason for this! You fooled me! You fooled me into letting my guard down! You wanted him to see you!"

Ruri'iro Kujaku was stunned. "Kimi, that's not—"

"Don't call me that! I am not 'kimi' to you, and I never have been! This whole thing—all that stuff you said about wanting us to be together again – it was all just a setup to make me think I could trust you! You knew Ikkaku was watching!" He saw the plaintive look on his zanpakuto's face, and it only made him angrier. "I should have known I couldn't trust you! I hate you!"

Ruri'iro shook his head anxiously. "That's not true! Master, you have to believe me! I didn't know he was there. I was too busy trying to save you! I didn't want any of this to happen. I wanted us to go back to the way we used to be—"

"Which was impossible as long as I was in the Eleventh Squad, as long as I was still friends with Ikkaku; so you found a way to get rid of them both at once," Yumichika accused. "You've been looking for a way to do this for decades, and today you finally got your chance!"

"No! Master, what can I do to prove it to you?" Ruri'iro implored.

"There's nothing you can do. I'm finished with you. Just go back into the sword," Yumichika answered flatly.

"But how will—"

"Go back into the sword! I don't want to look at you ever again!"

Ruri'iro stared at him for a long moment. "Yes, master." A pause. "But . . . who will look after you?"

"Apparently you haven't noticed that I can take care of myself," Yumichika replied. "Now, do what I told you."

Ruri'iro disappeared in a flash of azure light.

Yumichika took one last look around the room where he had lived for the last hundred years, then he left.

He did not look back. And he did not take Ruri'iro Kujaku with him.

* * *

It was late at night when Ikkaku finally returned to the officers' quarters. He'd put off the dreadful moment as long as he reasonably could; but reason was now past, and he could delay no longer.

He wanted to pretend that he'd been off working on the training plan – except that he hadn't. Ikkaku never planned anything.

No, as soon as the squad had been released, he'd gone off on his own, outside the walls of the Seireitei, to the outlying low hills that surrounded the city. Here he sat as the sun dipped below the horizon, not to consider the day's combat and the new enemy, but to try and come to terms with Yumichika's deception and dismissal. After hours spent on the hill, his mind going in circles, he had come no closer to peace-of-mind or understanding. He wasn't sure he ever would. The idea that Yumichika had been deceiving him since the first moments of their acquaintance was overwhelming.

How could he have been so blind?! Everything about Yumichika screamed kido: his ability to heal, the seductive nature of his reiatsu, his claim that his zanpakuto could crush others with its reiatsu, the easy way he could overpower a man's senses and turn him into a raving, lustful animal . . . kido. All kido. It was so obvious now, Ikkaku wondered how he could have missed it. How everyone could have missed it!

The lies and deception had been wicked, but those could have been overcome. An apology could have been offered and accepted. Trust could have been restored.

But Yumichika could not change his nature. He could not become something he wasn't. And that was the heart of the problem. Even if Yumichika were sorry for all the perfidy his lies had entailed, that would not undo the fact that his soul was innervated by kido. That one fact would never change. And how was Ikkaku to accept something he despised as weakness - even In his closest friend?

It seemed that Yumichika himself had been able to accomplish what Ikkaku's father had not all those years ago. The sundering of this relationship sat squarely on Yumichika's shoulders.

But why, then, did Ikkaku feel like he were sitting in a cesspool of his own guilt? Brooding over the situation was not going to change things and was only serving to make him even more surly.

Added to that was the fact that Hoozukimaru had not stopped demanding his attention since the moment of discovery; but Ikkaku was in no mood to deal with his zanpakuto. He ignored him as best he could; and finally, upon hearing a distant gong ring out the midnight hour, he decided to head back to his room.

He did not know what to expect when he entered the officers' quarters. Would Yumichika still be there? And if he were, could Ikkaku manage to avoid him? He didn't want to speak to him. He had no idea what he could possibly say under the circumstances.

The second he entered the quarters, though, he knew his fears had been for naught. Yumichika was not there. While there seemed to be some lingering reiatsu, it was clear Yumichika not present.

Ikkaku felt an odd combination of relief and regret. He understood the relief well enough, but what did he have to regret? He'd done nothing wrong. He hadn't lied and hidden the truth. Maybe he'd reacted harshly, but wasn't he entitled to be outraged? Didn't he have a legitimate reason to feel betrayed?

He came to Yumichika's room. The door was open. A splash of orange in the corner caught his attention, and despite himself, he went inside. Yumichika's uniform lay folded neatly on top of the bed. The orange neck piece he had worn as an adornment lay on top.

"You should have taken these with you," Ikkaku grumbled. "What point was there in leaving them here?"

As he turned to leave, he saw Yumichika's zanpakuto lying on the floor next to the bed. For several seconds, he stood and just looked at it. A hateful feeling began to take form deep inside him.

"You're the cause of all this trouble," he said aloud. "How could he have ended up with something like you?" He already knew the answer. Yumichika could only bring forth a zanpakuto that reflected his own inner being, his own spirit energy. Ruri'iro Kujaku was a reflection of what Yumichika had tried so hard to keep hidden. Again, Ikkaku berated himself for not having noticed it sooner.

He picked the sword up and withdrew it from its scabbard. He held it in his hands for several seconds and even ran his finger down the broad side of the blade. He had handled Yumichika's weapon only a few times before – once to kill a man. He had never liked the way it felt in his hands, and he wasn't really sure why he was holding it now. Maybe he was hoping to detect something of the weapon's spirit, to send a message of anger and hatred. Maybe he wanted to feel what Yumichika felt every time he wrapped his fingers around the hilt. Or maybe he was just curious, now that he knew the weapon's true nature.

But the longer he held it, a peculiar sensation began to overtake him. It was as if he were holding Yumichika in his hands; the spirit energy he was sensing might as well have been Yumichika's. In a burst of disgust, he slammed the zanpakuto back into its scabbard.

"So, you're where he learned all those tricks," Ikkaku snarled. "Or maybe you learned them from him. But I'm not going to be seduced by you. He may have been able to fool me, but you won't." With that, he gathered up the uniform under one arm and Ruri'iro Kujaku in the other and went to his own room.

But no sooner had he walked through the door than he found himself careening across the room and into the wall, the items in his arms flying out in every direction.

"What the—" he ground out, getting to his feet only to see Hoozukimaru bearing down on him.

"You fucking idiot!" the dragon roared. "What have you done?!"

Ikkaku wiped a trickle of blood from his temple. He'd never seen Hoozukimaru this angry, yet this came as no surprise. "I don't want to talk about it—"

"Well, that's just too fucking bad," Hoozukimaru snorted. "You forget, ever since Muramasa, I know how to manifest on my own. So, if you think you can just ignore me, think again. If you won't come to me, I'll come out here and drag you by the shorthairs until you listen!"

"You're forgetting who the master is here," Ikkaku warned.

"And you're forgetting that without me, you're nothing," Hoozukimaru returned threateningly.

"I think you've got it backwards. You're the one who wouldn't exist if it weren't for me," Ikkaku sneered.

"And right now, I'd happily accept oblivion rather than belong to someone as thick-skulled and callous as you," Hoozukimaru shot back. He grabbed Ikkaku by the folds of his kosode and pulled him close until their faces were only inches apart. "I'm ashamed to call you 'master'."

Ikkaku jerked free and shoved him away. "Who the hell are you to talk?!" he burst out angrily. "You probably knew all this time, didn't you? You knew Fuji Kujaku was kido—"

"Ruri'iro Kujaku!" Hoozukimaru corrected with warmth. "And yes, of course I knew he was kido-based. I knew Little Pretty's soul was kido, even though he hid it from everyone else! He couldn't hide it from me – or the other zanpakuto. We all knew!"

"Then why didn't you tell me?!" Ikkaku's voice was accusative.

"Because Little Pretty didn't want you to know, and Ruri'iro Kujaku didn't want to go against him!" Hoozukimaru answered. "And one thing about us zanpakuto: we honor the relationship between zanpakuto and master. We don't do anything to come between them—"

"Oh, that's bullshit!" Ikkaku burst out. "Muramasa was a zanpakuto and he came between every Shinigami and their zanpakuto—"

"Maybe _he_ did, but _we_ don't!" The dragon seethed. "But who cares whether or not I knew about Ruri'iro Kujaku's kido nature? What matters is the blockheaded way you reacted!"

"You'd feel the same way if Ruri'iro Kujaku had lied to you all these years," Ikkaku retorted. "And this wasn't just one or two little lies told here and there. This was a deception from the first moment we met!" He was growing more animated and upset with each word. "And he wasn't lying to me about something unimportant! He lied to me about something he knew I hated—"

"That's why he lied to you, you imbecile! So that you wouldn't cast him aside!" Hoozukimaru's own emotions were rising along with those of his master. He wrapped one massive hand around Ikkaku's upper arm. "And he was right to do so, because the moment you found out, what did you do? You abandoned him! Gahhhh, you are such a stupid bastard!"

Ikkaku's jaw was working. "Call me what you want. I'm not the one who lived a lie all these years."

"Do you think he wanted to live that lie? And do you think Ruri'iro Kujaku was happy being hidden away all that time – just so his master wouldn't lose you?"

Ikkaku was silent.

The dragon continued. "You've seen Ruri'iro Kujaku in action _once_. I've seen him many times." His voice was low and grave. "He's more powerful than I am. His shikai could defeat my bankai. It could defeat almost every bankai we've seen in the Gotei 13. Maybe there are some who could beat him, but not many. He has abilities you couldn't even guess at, that even I don't understand. But—but Little Pretty hasn't made any progress with him in decades, and that's all because of you. You revere strength, but you're holding those two back from developing their strength—"

"I don't respect any strength based on kido," Ikkaku replied.

"You didn't seem to mind when he used it to save your life," Hoozukimaru pointed out. "His healing methods are kido—"

"That's different," Ikkaku deferred. "Healing isn't fighting."

"Aaiiiieeee!" Such frustration did not sit well on Hoozukimaru. "Don't you think an injured or ill person fighting for their life is still fighting?! You are—you—I can't say anything to get through to you! But why am I surprised?! Anyone who would throw away someone they love because of something as ridiculous as kido—"

"I don't love Yumichika—"

"Oh yes, you do!" The dragon bellowed. "For the sake of heaven and all its souls, would you stop denying it?! I'm tired of it! I'm tired of—of you finding every reason to put off the only things that are important to you!"

Ikkaku narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I mean these!" Hoozukimaru jabbed him just above the eyes, where the red of the Okibi colored his skin. And then in a moment of great audacity, he tore the hakama and fundoshi from Ikkaku's body, exposing the Dokushin. "And this!"

Ikkaku flushed red. "What—what the hell are you doing?!"

"You know what these things mean!" The dragon then snatched Yumichika's uniform and ornament from where they had fallen on the floor. "And you know what he means. You wanted both, then you gave up on both! Things get hard, and you quit! And now, if you can't find a way to regain both and reconcile them in your life, then—then you're not the master I once thought you were."

"They have nothing to do with each other," Ikkaku grumbled, reaching for his hakama.

Hoozukimaru's voice fell off to an even, quiet timber. "One presents a challenge. The other tells you how to handle that challenge." A pause. "If you had paid attention to Master Hakama back when you were in the monastery, you would have realized that a long time ago."

With that, Hoozukimaru returned to his world, and Ikkaku was left to ponder the meaning of his words.

* * *

"Ikkaku?! Ikkaku!"

There was a banging at his door, and he recognized the voice on the other side. He really didn't want to deal with anyone else at the moment, but he knew this Soul Reaper was persistent, and so, despite the fact that it was well past midnight, he called out, "Come in."

Rangiku Matsumoto burst through the door. Ikkaku frowned at the expression on her face, because he could see plainly that she had heard the news about Yumichika. As the lieutenant for Tenth Squad, she had a legitimate reason to inquire, but greater was the fact of her friendship with Yumichika.

"What is this about Yumichika leaving?" she demanded.

"It's true," Ikkaku replied coolly, sitting up to answer her. He'd been lying, once again fully clothed in his uniform after Hoozukimaru's visit, on his bed, trying unsuccessfully to think of anything but the previous day's events. "He's already left."

"But why?" she asked. "What happened?"

"Captain Zaraki kicked him out of the squad," Ikkaku replied, knowing that answer would not suffice.

"How could he kick him out of the squad? He's one of your best officers! What happened, Ikkaku?" She sounded almost frantic.

"You really don't know? I thought everyone would have heard by now." Ikkaku was almost flippant, but with an underlying acidity that could not be fully disguised. "Captain Zaraki found out that Yumichika's zanpakuto is kido-based."

Rangiku looked at him in wide-eyed disbelief.

"He kicked him out because of that? That's the stupidest thing I've—"

"You might think it's stupid, but that's the way it's always been in the Eleventh," Ikkaku defended. "It's understood that all zanpakuto must—"

"—be physical, direct combat. I know, I know," Rangiku cut him off impatiently. Her anger was increasing. "Fuji Kujaku is physical—"

"But _Ruri'iro _Kujaku isn't," Ikkaku interrupted.

"Ruri'iro Kujaku?"

"That's the real name of Yumichika's zanpakuto," Ikkaku explained. "He used the other name to keep it from fully releasing."

Rangiku absorbed this for a moment in silence. It didn't surprise her at all that Yumichika had wanted to keep any kido ability hidden from Ikkaku and the rest of the squad. Yumichika had always been sensitive to the approval of Ikkaku and, through him, Zaraki.

"So, how did Captain Zaraki find out?" she asked at length.

"I don't know," Ikkaku replied. "I mean, I saw it in action myself, but I didn't tell anyone. Yumichika waited until he thought he was alone. But he wasn't."

"You saw it?"

Ikkaku nodded. "Yes."

Rangiku prompted him for more information. "Well?"

Ikkaku hesitated, not sure how to describe what he had seen. "It's . . . powerful. And disturbing."

"Disturbing? How?"

"It—it has these vines that wrap around the enemy and then drain its reiatsu."

Rangiku was stunned. "Drains its reiatsu . . ." she whispered.

"I couldn't believe it when I saw what it was capable of doing. I thought it was his bankai," Ikkaku went on, an unexpected feeling of relief washing over him at the chance to talk about what had happened. "It's dangerous, because he—he doesn't have control over it."

"Are you sure that's what it was doing, stealing reiatsu?" Rangiku asked.

"I'm sure. Yumichika admitted it. I confronted him after he defeated the creature, and he admitted it," Ikkaku replied. "What I can't figure out is how Captain Zaraki found out."

Rangiku wasn't interested in that. "Where did he go? Where is he now?"

Ikkaku shrugged. "I don't know. When I passed his room, he was already gone. He left his uniform behind." A pause. "And Fuji—Ruri'iro Kujaku."

"He left his zanpakuto behind?"

Ikkaku nodded. "So, I took it. It's over there on the table. I don't know . . . I just felt like someone should keep an eye on it after all that trouble with Muramasa. We have to be cautious. What happened between Yumichika and Ruri'iro Kujaku is awfully similar to what happened to Muramasa and Koga."

"We have to find him," Rangiku said emphatically.

"Not a chance," Ikkaku replied, equally determined.

"What—what do you mean?"

"Look, I wanted him to leave," Ikkaku replied. "I couldn't even bear to look at him anymore."

"Ikkaku, how could you do that to him? He's been with you since before you came here! He's been completely loyal to you—"

"Don't lecture me, Matsumoto," Ikkaku warned. "Do you think it was easy? It wasn't. But he lied to me – for years. And he hid who he really was."

"You idiot," she seethed.

"How am I an idiot? Only for being duped for so long! For trusting him!" Ikkaku retorted angrily, echoes of Hoozukimaru's chastisement sounding in his head.

Rangiku's jaw was firm. "For hurting him over something this stupid." She turned and started to walk away, "And if you won't look for him, I will."

"Fine, you go look for him," Ikkaku grumbled. "As for me, " the petulance left his voice to be replaced by sadness, "I wish—I wish I'd never met him."


	3. Chapter 3

_**Dear Reader, There's a bit of a complicated explanation at the beginning of this chapter, but I hope it's not too hard to follow. Also, I once again make reference to the "Atmen" mentioned in Part II, Chapter 7. "Atmen" is German for breath. After you finish this chapter, you may be able to start gleaning the as-yet-unrevealed power that I will be bestowing upon the Peacock. Lastly, don't kill me for my mention of The Bount! I treat all stuff as if it's canon! Peace, TK**_

* * *

Chapter 3 The Return

"_As we look around us,  
__The world goes on.  
__We're strangers in a strange land,  
__Trying to find where we don't belong."_

_The Western Sky  
_Justin Hayward

Juushiro Ukitake honestly did not like entering the Squad Twelve facilities.

And that was saying something, for the Squad Thirteen Captain was arguably the most gentle, accepting soul in the whole of the Gotei 13. Perhaps that was what made him feel so uncomfortable among the oddities and misfits of the Twelfth Squad; for while they were a collection of peculiarities, they were elitist about it. Captain Ukitake, by contrast, was as 'non-elite' as they came. Not to mention that the Squad Twelve captain, Mayuri Kurotsuchi, was one of his least favorite officers.

But the mission was always more important than any personal sentiment, and so Captain Ukitake now found himself, three days after the battle, sitting at a shining graphite table in the middle of the blinking darkness of the Squad Twelve investigative and testing buildings, waiting for Captain Kurotsuchi to arrive.

Fortunately, he was not alone.

Shunsui Kyoraku was at his side, and that made the situation less irritating.

They had been assigned by the head captain to oversee the investigation, in its entirety, of the new enemy. That included adopting and training to new fighting techniques; working on a way to detect the enemy's arrival prior to an attack occurring, as well as determining how they were moving from place to place; and most basically – ascertaining precisely what this adversary was.

"He's twenty minutes late," Shunsui grumbled as he sat slouched in an uncomfortable steel-framed contraption that felt more like a torture device than a conference room chair.

"He's always late," Juushiro replied. "Some things never change." He drew his shoulders up to his ears and slunk down into his own conference-torture chair to mimic his companion. "I think he does it just to . . . play with people's nerves."

Shunsui chuckled. "What? Don't you like sitting here in his little house of horrors? You know, one day I'm going to go behind every door in this place and—"

"Careful," Juushiro cautioned. "Who knows what you'd find. I think the less we know about him and his . . . pursuits, the better."

At that moment, the door opened and in rushed the man in question, full of energy as always, looking like he was on his way to a costume party. Behind him came his lieutenant, Nemu, followed two attendants, carrying armloads of vials, charts, clear plastic tubes, and reams of paper.

"Ah-ah-ah, Captain Ukitake, Captain Kyoraku, I'm so glad you could wait," he began.

Shunsui wondered if Kurotsuchi's choice of words was purposefully meant to irritate his guests. "You said you'd made some important discoveries," he pointed out.

"Indeed, I have. Indeed, I have," Mayuri replied. "No—put that here, you fool. Nemu, take those from him—get—oh, just put it all on the table and get out of here! All of you! Idiots! I'm surrounded by idiots!"

Juushiro held his tongue. Shunsui held his laughter, for only an idiot would surround himself with more idiots.

Mayuri picked up a tiny vial, inside of which was a small amount of black powder. "This . . . this gave me the answer," he announced with ceremony. "I've been studying and researching this case for over a hundred years, but this little spot of dust gave me the answer I've been looking for."

The two senior captains waited expectantly.

"This dust is all that's left after the creatures are destroyed," Mayuri began. "Do you want to know what it's made of?" he asked, leaning down to regard them with an eager expression.

"Inert spirit particles." He spoke the words as if he were imparting a great secret.

Captain Ukitake raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

Captain Kurotsuchi made a pedantic, scoffing sound. "Of course, you wouldn't know what it means. No one would know what it means, because it is only a recent discovery. _My_ discovery."

"Yes, but what—" Shunsui began, but Mayuri cut him off.

"Everything in Soul Society is made up of spirit particles. The buildings, the trees, the streets, the clothes we wear, the food we eat. All spirit particles. Even the smallest child knows that," Mayuri said in his most condescending voice. "And as the name implies, spirit particles are charged with spirit energy. Oh, it might be a low-grade energy, but it's energy nonetheless. That energy takes on the characteristics of whatever it is fashioned into – a roof shingle, a cobble-stone, a pear . . . the blade of a sword. But when the particle itself is drained of its reiatsu—in other words, drained of its life—it ceases to be anything." He opened the vial and dumped the contents onto the table. "It becomes this. Matter without energy. Existence without spirit."

"Is such a thing possible?" Juushiro asked, flabbergasted. "I mean . . . there are forces constantly attracting and repelling, holding things together and breaking them apart. Those are energy forces . . . do they not exist in that dust?"

"On an atomic level, of course there are energy forces." He smiled the nearly insane grin of the unhinged mind. _"But no spirit energy."_

"No spirit energy," Ukitake whispered.

"And in a place where everything is made up of spirit energy in one form or another, that's a pretty . . . improbable occurrence," Shunsui continued the line of thought.

"Do you know where I found this dust?" Mayuri asked.

"I would assume on the battlefield," Shunsui replied.

Captain Kurotsuchi was nearly bursting with self-importance. But then again, he had a reason to be.

"I arrived at the battlefield almost immediately after the battle had ended," Mayuri explained. "It was covered with black dust. We took over a hundred samples and then fanned out into the surrounding area to see if we could find more clues. It was sunset when we returned to the battlefield." A pause. "All the dust was gone. There'd been no breeze, no rain. It had all just disappeared. We went over the entire place in excruciating detail and finally were able to find only this little remnant. So, I brought it back to the lab and analyzed it along with the other samples." He reached into the metallic box on the table in front of him and pulled out numerous other vials. "That first vial contains inert spirit particles. All of these, collected when the place was still covered with dust, contain . . . oh, how shall I say it? Disassociated spirit particles."

"You're losing me," Shunsui said.

"Inert particles are dead. They can't be re-enervated. Disassociated particles still have energy but simply have been . . . blown or torn apart. They need something, an outside force, to bind them together again," Kurotsuchi said.

"And so . . . "

"Here's where it gets interesting." The Twelfth Squad captain placed the dozen or so vials he'd taken from the box onto the table. "All these other vials have the same matrix. When we loaded that matrix into the particle scanner, we found no matches – nothing in all of Soul Society." He held up the first vial. "But when we loaded this matrix . . . we immediately found a match."

Both Ukitake and Kyoraku knew they had just heard something crucial, but they had no idea why it was important.

"The match was in a location approximately 46 miles due east of the battlefield. When we went to investigate, we found the ground still covered with black dust. Inert spirit particles." He let his words hang in the silence, but if he'd expected his audience to comprehend their meaning, he was left waiting.

At last, Captain Ukitake asked, "What does that mean?"

Mayuri rolled his yellow eyes. "How did simpletons like you two ever become captains?"

"Just lucky, I guess," Shunsui replied, as Juushiro simply smiled.

"It means that a separate battle took place east of the main battlefield, resulting in inert spirit particles, whereas the main battle resulted in disassociated particles. When the person who fought that separate battle returned to the main battlefield, he must have had some of those inert particles on him and that's how the trace was left on the main battlefield. The fact that all the other spirit particles had disappeared would seem to indicate that something—or someone—came along and collected them to be re-associated. But the inert particles, being of no use, were left behind."

Captain Ukitake began to piece together what few strands he could comprehend. "Captain Zaraki said that the way to kill the creatures was to pierce a glowing orb in their heads . . . "

"But we know of at least one Soul Reaper who dispatched his enemy in a different manner," Kurotsuchi continued the deductive trail.

"Ayasegawa," Shunsui provided.

"Yes, apparently, the little hermaphrodite—" it was Mayuri's favorite insult in reference to Yumichika "—had a secret weapon the whole time, and that weapon seems to be quite effective at permanently disabling the enemy. The other methods used to destroy the enemy only . . . dismantled it. It can be reassembled—"

"Unless the particles are rendered inert," Juushiro completed the thought.

"Are there other ways to render them inert?" Shunsui asked.

"The means is simple. Drain them of their reiatsu," Mayuri replied. "And that ability exists, but it's never been easily or cleanly harnessed. Those most proficient at it have a natural ability to do it - like the Bount."

"Like Ayasegawa," Juushiro added.

"An ability he's been hiding from the day he came here," Mayuri said, and he could not hide the anticipation in his voice. "I knew the moment I felt his reiatsu that there was something unusual about him. Oh, I should have demanded him as a test subject! Now, he's left the Gotei 13 before I even had a chance to find out how his zanpakuto works!"

Shunsui was almost tempted to believe that Yumichika's departure had been for the best, given Kurotsuchi's insatiable and morbid curiousity. "Does anyone know where he went?" he asked.

Juushiro shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Yes, yes, nothing to worry about. I can find him if I want him," Captain Kurotsuchi said, waving his hand impatiently. "There's something else I think you will be interested to know." A pause. "The inert dust has no spirit signature, only an atomic signature. The disassociated dust, however, has thousands—perhaps millions—of spirit signatures—" He paused dramatically, "—all within the same particle."

Shunsui and Juushiro exchanged grave faces.

"What does that mean?" Juushiro asked tepidly.

"It means that, somehow, the mechanism exists to combine the spirit energies of multiple entities into one spirit particle. The enemy is made up of just such spirit particles," Mayuri replied.

"Where did that energy come from?," Shunsui said, perplexed.

"It would take thousands of years to isolate each individual fragment of spirit energy in each particle," Mayuri pointed out. "But we've done some spot-studies and identified 83 different energies thus far. Most of them . . . are zanpakuto."

This brought nothing but an incredulous silence from his audience, and it made the scientist perk with grandiosity.

"I've long suspected something like this was taking place," he said in a proud manner. "Ever since that explosion at the forge—"

"That was over a hundred years ago," Juushiro interrupted. "This has been in the planning that long?"

"Maybe longer," Mayuri replied. "That was just when I began to suspect something. You see, when we conducted our investigation of the explosion site, I noticed that the spirit energy released by the destroyed weapons was not dissipating over time, as would be expected. It had either been blown away completely or it was stolen immediately after the destruction. Being the weapons involved were Asauchi, I didn't expect to find much energy at all, but to find none . . . that wasn't a natural occurrence. So, I decided to conduct a few experiments."

Both Shunsui and Juushiro readied themselves, for they knew what kinds of experiments Captain Kurotsuchi was known to conduct.

"I wanted to see what was happening to the spirit energy of fallen Shinigami and their zanpakuto," Mayuri explained. "For if a zanpakuto dies with its Shinigami, then it must have a release of spirit energy, just like its master. Well!" He was alive with excitement. "I discovered that the deaths associated with the black cloud left behind no trace of spirit energy! Not of the Shinigami nor the zanpakuto! The cloud was sucking up the spirit energy at the very moment of destruction. In cases of death where the cloud was not involved, it was still able to come along at some point after death and siphon off whatever spirit energy was still lingering in the air."

"Do we want to know how you ascertained all this?" Juushiro asked, looking more pale than usual.

Mayuri gave a sweetly wicked smile. "Probably not. But that's not even the most intriguing part. I've been trying to figure out what . . . catalyst resulted in the generation of such a being: a being that steals the reiatsu of the dead and their zanpakuto. How did such a creature gain existence and to what end?"

"And what have you come up with?"

"I may be a brilliant scientist, but one thing I am woefully inefficient at is sensing the . . . qualities of spirit energy," Mayuri replied. "What I've learned from the very few survivors of encounters with the being is that they sensed a great deal of hatred in it." A pause. "I spoke to Third Seat Madarame briefly yesterday, and he told me that Ayasegawa had sensed lust in the creature – lust for inflicting pain. How does such a lust develop from a collection of individual spirit energies?"

"Back on the night of the explosion, someone was seen leaving the scene," Shunsui reminded them. "Could that person be the catalyst you're looking for?"

"I'm betting on it," Mayuri replied.

"But who would have the knowledge of how to create such a being?" Juushiro asked.

"One who has experience stealing reiatsu," Mayuri replied.

Shunsui raised a doubtful brow. "What are you implying?"

"Ayasegawa was there the night of the explosion. His zanpakuto is capable of draining spirit energy. And we all know he and his zanpakuto have been at enmity for at least these past hundred years. Surely, they are both filled with hatred—" Kurotsuchi began.

Juushiro cut him off, standing up and leaning across the table. "Don't be ridiculous! What purpose would Ayasegawa—or his zanpakuto—have for wreaking such havoc? And besides, he was apprehended the night of the explosion while Madarame was chasing the perpetrator."

"So it appeared."

"I won't listen to any more of this—" Juushiro began, but Shunsui silenced him with a hand on his arm.

"Look, I don't think it's a good use of your time to investigate Ayasegawa as a suspect in this," he said to Mayuri. "But I do think you need to find a way for the battles to end with more . . . inert spirit particles than the dis—the . . . the other kind." He stood up, and a brief glimpse of the dangerous man beneath bubbled to the surface. "I think Ayasegawa has probably already suffered enough. Don't add to it."

He and Juushiro headed for the exit, and just before leaving, Shunsui said over his shoulder, "We'll pass this information onto the Old Man. You'd better start working on a way to beat these things."

With that, the two senior captains departed.

The moment they emerged into the bright afternoon sunlight, Juushiro felt as if he'd been released from prison. "Oh, I'll be happy if I don't have to go back there for another fifty years!"

"Has it been fifty years since the last time?" Shunsui quipped.

"I was exaggerating," Juushiro replied. "As if sharing a mess hall with them isn't bad enough—"

"It teaches you patience."

Now, it was Juushiro's turn to smile. "Then let me be impatient."

They walked on in silence for half a minute, then Juushiro asked, "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking about Ayasegawa."

"Me, too."

"You know, we—we had the means to defeat these creatures, and we let it go," Shunsui noted. He plucked a tall blade of wheat grass, a patch of which grew wild in the cultivated garden through which they were passing. "We need it back."

"So, you think Captain Kurotsuchi is as wrong about Ayasegawa as I do," Juushiro prompted.

"Of course, he's wrong," Shunsui stated. "Why would Ayasegawa create these beings and then destroy his own creation? No, no . . . Yumichika isn't responsible for this enemy." A pause. "I remember hearing about the first encounter any patrol had with the cloud. Ayasegawa was there and apparently the enemy wanted his zanpakuto."

Juushiro sighed. "As one would expect. Similar powers." He stopped walking.

Shunsui stopped as well and turned to face him. He knew what was coming.

"We were right," Juushiro said in a quiet, even voice. "Ayasegawa's zanpakuto is an Atmen."

"Well, we—we can't be completely sure of that," Shunsui deferred. "Not yet."

"He can drain reiatsu," Juushiro pointed out.

"That's only one side of it," Shunsui replied.

"He can heal."

This one was not so easily dismissed. "Yeah," Shunsui breathed.

"Do you have any doubt?" Juushiro pressed.

Shunsui had no doubt. "Do you think he's figured out how to use it?"

"No. We certainly would have felt it," Juushiro replied. "Captain Kurotsuchi was right about one thing. Ayasegawa and his zanpakuto do hate each other. I can't imagine how they could move to the level necessary when carrying around all that animosity."

Shunsui frowned and shook his head. "It seems . . . it's wrong that something that comes along so rarely should never see its full development."

Juushiro nodded his agreement. "And now he's out there somewhere, and who knows what could happen?"

Shunsui was grave. "We do."

"Do you think we could convince him to come back?" Juushiro asked.

"I think there's only one person who could do that."

"Should we talk to Madarame?"

Shunsui was thoughtful. "Let me handle that one alone."

* * *

Yumichika stopped and took a long moment to regard the scene before him. He had been walking for three weeks, and at last he had arrived. He could have used shunpo, but he'd been in no hurry and besides – he didn't feel that he should use it anymore. That skill was for Shinigami. And he was no longer a Shinigami.

Three weeks of walking – only to come to this. Why? Why had he come back to this place? There were other destinations he could have chosen – either familiar or unknown. But he had chosen here. Or it was more accurate to say he had not chosen at all, for no conscious decision had been made; rather, he'd headed in this direction from the outset, as if it were the only possibility.

It was not an ugly place. Rather, the village was beautiful. It always had been. The inland sea just beyond the village glimmered in the midday sun, and in the distance rose the hazy mountains that had formed the backdrop to so many of Yumichika's days in Soul Society.

But that was as far as the beauty went. Everything else about the place was abominable. The people – with perhaps one exception. The feeling he got being here. But most of all, the memories. No amount of physical beauty could undo the vileness of what had happened here.

Perhaps it was that very association with foulness, with painful recollections that had drawn him here. He no longer felt beautiful or in control of events in his life. He no longer felt wanted or needed.

Mito Village seemed to match his state-of-mind perfectly; morose and without any sense of worth.

He started down the long, gradual slope, leaving the road and giving the village a wide berth so as to avoid its inhabitants. He came to the sea's edge where a series of short piers jutted into the water. One of them had a covered dock beside it with a thatched roof and open sides. A man sat there, facing the sea, but as Yumichika approached, he sat up suddenly and turned.

"Ayasegawa-san . . . "

His face was darkened by the sun and made coarse by years of weather on the sea; but the amazement in that face—one of the kindest faces Yumichika had ever known—made him appear younger than his many years. He rose from his mat and came across the pier to meet him. "I cannae believe it. How long 'as it been? Look at ya . . . ya cut off all ya hair."

"It's good to see you again, Kaekae," Yumichika said, mustering as much enthusiasm as he could.

"Whatcha doin' back 'ere? We 'eard ya was a Shinigami. Is that true?" Kaekae asked.

"I was," Yumichika replied. "But not anymore. I've come back to stay."

The old man regarded him with a baffled expression. "You left the Seireitei to come here?"

"It's a long story—"

"I ne'er thought ya'd come back 'ere," Kaekae interrupted. "I wouldna ha' blamed ya if ya'd stayed away forever. What will 'appen when they find out ya back?"

"I don't know," Yumichika answered. "I don't want them to find out. I need a place to stay. Do you still own the hutches?"

"Ay-yah. They taken a lota damage from storms o'er the years, but some is still livable. You can choose whiche'er one ya want," the old man replied, then added, "But that won' stop 'em from findin' out ya back."

Yumichika reached out and squeezed the wrinkled hand. "I'll worry about that when it happens. Thank you, Kaekae."

"No need to thank me. After all the kindness ya showed me, it's my chance to return the favor." He looked at the small satchel Yumichika had set on the ground. "Is that all ya have wit' ya?"

"Yes. I don't need much these days."

"But ya still prob'ly like ta eat. Oh, I remember ya appetite. I can brin' ya somethin' later on," he offered.

Yumichika was touched by the charity of this poor man, and he knew to turn him down would be an insult. "I would appreciate that."

"Good! Then I'll fine ya this evening. You can let me know then wha' else ya need, and I'll get it."

Yumichika nodded. "You were always a good friend, Kaekae-san. Thank you." With that, he picked up his satchel, turned and walked along the pathway towards where the shore morphed into the run of cyprus trees that he knew so well and the swamp in which there stood, interspersed among the trees, a dozen one-room shacks on stilts – referred to locally as hutches. Normally used for fishermen's work and storage, one of them now would serve as Yumichika's home.

There was not a soul to be seen, which was good for Yumichika. He had planned it this way, knowing that the midday heat would keep most of the villagers indoors. The longer he could keep his presence a secret, the better. Or at least, when they finally did discover he had returned, he might be more fit to deal with them. But right now, he was tired and if he met any one of those whom he wished to avoid, he might end up acting stupidly. He was not ready to accumulate more regrets.

He bypassed the first several hutches, choosing a half-sunken walkway out to the hutch furthest from shore, nestled among a cluster of trees. Despite the sagging frame and derelict condition of the hutch, Yumichika felt compelled towards it. These were old, familiar footsteps he was retracing – only in those days, the walkway and the hutches had been meticulously maintained. Their condition now was a sign that times had gotten hard for the villagers.

There was a four-rung ladder up to an open deck that faced seaward. The torch holders that had once stood at each end of the deck were gone – splintered wooden poles all that remained as proof of their existence. Most of the wooden railing had fallen away. Pieces of it jutted up out of the water below, like skeletal fingers reaching but never grasping. The image made Yumichika queasy. He turned to the door – still intact but warped and ill-fitting now. Stepping inside, he steadied himself against the wall. The flood of emotions that rushed in upon him made him tremble. He felt light-headed and his vision blurred.

_"What the hell is going on?"_

Ikkaku's voice . . . somewhere far beyond the present but still lingering in this place.

Yumichika dropped his satchel and rubbed his temples. Of all the times he had been in this hutch – all the experiences – this was the only memory to come into his head? Of course, it was. It had been the only time that had mattered, the moment his life had taken on new meaning. The first time someone had intervened and shown him that he didn't have to live his life that way . . .

Everything that had come of that moment was now gone – lost in a matter of seconds. Had his friendship with Ikkaku really been that fragile? He couldn't bear to think about it.

In one corner of the room was a torn and partly disintegrated straw floor mat. For Yumichika it would suffice. In the center of the room near the back wall, a large part of the floor had rotted away, opening a hole to the water below. Again, Yumichika did not care. Beauty, safety, comfort – none of that meant anything to him now. He wanted only to be left alone and remain hidden.

Neither desire seemed likely to last very long.

He'd been well aware that Rangiku had been searching for him as he'd journeyed; and he'd suppressed his reiatsu to avoid detection. But Rangiku had not done so with hers, and he knew her reiatsu perhaps better than anyone else's besides Ikkaku's. He'd gone to great lengths to stay hidden, and Rangiku had passed very close several times. He did not want to see her, for he knew she would be relentless in trying to persuade him to return, to the point of even being physical. He was too ashamed to face her, too tired.

Too defeated.

He sat down on the straw mat and closed his eyes. Within seconds, he had fallen off into a merciful sleep.

* * *

Had he run out of sake already? Well, damn, where was Nanao when he needed her? Not that she would agree to fetch him another flask – more likely, she would scold and lecture. And he would tease her about how the anger only increased her beauty. Shunsui knew how to push his lieutenant's buttons.

He sat up and pushed back the brim of his hat. Yep, he was still on the roof of some division's building – maybe even his own. The sun was setting but it was still warm outside. A nice nap would suit the moment.

He caught sight of a man sitting on the roof on the opposite side of the courtyard. The sunlight glancing off the man's head identified him as Madarame. A perfect opportunity had presented itself – and only a few short days after he and Juushiro had spoken with Captain Kurotsuchi.

It had been Shunsui's idea to speak to Ikkaku alone. The two had become well acquainted over the years, and so it would not seem unnatural for him to strike up a conversation. After all, Madarame drank, and therefore, they already had something in common. Ayasegawa, on the other hand, had been known for not drinking – or if he did, it must be very little. Yet, everyone knew the two had been the closest of friends – almost inseparable. So to learn that Ikkaku had shunned Ayasegawa, cast him aside all because of kido . . .

It seemed impossible.

In a flashstep, Kyoraku was at Ikkaku's side.

Ikkaku let loose with a startled epithet, then seeing it was a captain he was cursing, offered a mumbled apology.

"Captain Kyoraku . . . sorry. You surprised me."

"I was hoping you had something to drink, but no such luck, I see."

"No such luck," Ikkaku confirmed. "Not even an occasion for me to do my lucky dance."

Shunsui felt it instantly: the despair and unhappiness, but most of all, the loneliness. He decided to test the waters.

"So, I take it things have calmed down in the Eleventh? Well, as calm as things can be under Zaraki's command," he ventured.

"I guess so," Ikkaku replied dully.

"Have they appointed a new officer to take Ayasegawa's place?"

"Not yet."

"It's been three weeks. They shouldn't wait too long, what a new enemy," Shunsui said.

"Captain Zaraki and the lieutenant will handle appointing a replacement," Ikkaku said, staring out towards the sunset. "I don't want anything to do with it."

"Feeling a little guilty?" Shunsui probed.

"Angry," Ikkaku corrected.

"Tell me."

Ikkaku shook his head. "I'll just sound like a fool."

"Then sound like a fool." Shunsui lay back in the sun. "From one fool to another."

Ikkaku considered. He trusted Captain Kyoraku, and he knew that, despite his love affair with the bottle, the captain had a wisdom based in realism and not in lofty, unattainable virtues. "I'm angry that he lied to me all these years. Angry that he has a kido-based zanpakuto." Ikkaku shook his head. "I still don't understand how that could have happened. I mean, I understand he's—clearly, now, I can see his soul is infused with kido, but he was always so physical-"

"In more ways than one," Shunsui interjected.

"Yeah," Ikkaku replied, fighting down the flush coming to his cheek. "Why couldn't he have developed a physical combat-type zanpakuto?"

Shunsui could not help but feel pity for Ikkaku's lack of insight.

"Do you believe he had a choice?" he asked. "A zanpakuto is an extension of its Shinigami's soul."

"I know that, but . . . before I met him, he didn't know how to fight at all, and after we met, I only taught him how to fight using physical attacks. All along, I guess he was learning from Ruri'iro Kujaku how to fight both ways – physically and using kido." He sighed. "I was so sure his zanpakuto was physical." He sighed. "But it wasn't. And he kept the truth from me."

"With good reason. Look at your reaction."

"Only because I had to find out for myself. If he had just told me upfront—"

"Come on, Ikkaku. You aren't going to try and tell me that everything would have been okay if he'd just told you from the beginning," Shunsui challenged. Then he added, "And don't you think that maybe some of that anger you're feeling is towards yourself?"

"For being so easily deceived," Ikkaku groused.

"We were all deceived," Shunsui said. "He was good at it. But he did it for one reason – to stay with you. Is it really such a big deal that Fuji Kujaku is kido-based?"

_"Ruri'iro _Kujaku," Ikkaku corrected, sounding as if the very word were distasteful to him. "And yes, it is a big deal. Kido is a coward's way of fighting."

"So, you think he's a coward?"

Ikkaku could not answer right away. He'd never detected even the slightest hint of cowardice from Yumichika. In fact, since coming to the Gotei 13, Yumichika had been almost foolhardy in his pursuit of combat; but he'd shown himself competent, and so Ikkaku had never had any reason to worry about his abilities or his courage.

"No," he replied at last. "But he's never used his full release in battle."

"That you know of," Shunsui stated. "What if you found out he'd used his full release before? Would that make him a coward?"

"Why? Have you seen him use it?" Ikkaku asked anxiously.

"No," Shunsui assured him. "But answer my question: would it make him a coward if he used his full release?"

Again, Ikkaku was slow to answer, but when he did, his voice was filled with loathing. "It would make him something other than what he pretended to be."

Shunsui shook his head with a sad smile. "You're being very hard on him."

"That's how it is in Zaraki's Squad," Ikkaku replied.

"You were friends with Ayasegawa long before you both joined up. If you'd never joined, would you still feel this way?" Shunsui asked.

"I've _always_ felt this way," Ikkaku shot back in irritation. "I've always looked down on kido—"

"To the point of rejecting your best friend over it?"

Ikkaku stood up and regarded Kyoraku with anger. "Yes!" he spat out. "This isn't my fault, so don't try to make me feel guilty."

"I'm not trying to make you feel guilty," came the calm reply.

"Everyone's been trying to make me feel guilty!" Ikkaku fretted. "The only ones who understand are the guys in my squad!"

Shunsui was not moved. "Any guilt you feel is your own. But I think you've made a mistake, and you are already regretting it."

Ikkaku was stubborn. "Even if I did regret it, that doesn'tdoesn't matter. He can't come back, and I—I don't want him to come back."

Shunsui got to his feel and put a hand on Ikkaku's shoulder. "Then you're a fool. The Eleventh Division isn't worth what you're losing. Captain Zaraki isn't worth what you're losing." At Ikkaku's expression, the precursor to an anticipated burst of outrage, he added, "You put so much importance on wanting to be worthy of Zaraki. Your devotion is going in the complete wrong direction. If you were smart, you'd go find Ayasegawa and beg him to come back." With that, he left in search of something to wet his palette, unwilling to push Madarame too hard and have it backfire on him.

Ikkaku stared after him for several seconds. On one hand, he was angry and offended that Kyoraku would question the validity of his anger. On the other, he had to acknowledge that Yumichika's departure was not having a positive effect on him. While he'd always been surly and short-tempered, in the last three weeks he'd become downright mean and easily set off. He had tried to provoke confrontations with anyone who had looked at him the wrong way, but fortunately, no one had taken him up on his provocations. He could not even find solace in the prospect or conduct of battle. The creatures that had appeared three weeks ago had made four more appearances, each seeming to be little more than a probe of Soul Society's defenses. Ikkaku had presented training to his division, but slaying the enemy was simply a task to be accomplished now. Even the enthusiasm of Captain Zaraki could not revive Ikkaku's spirit.

Captain Kyoraku had been dead-on. Ikkaku had never realized just how much of a calming effect Yumichika's presence had been on him. Nor had he recognized his reliance on Yumichika for solace and reason when events or his own emotions got the better of him, which was often. But most of all, he simply missed Yumichika's company.

Ikkaku knew he had taken Yumichika for granted, and he certainly had not given him any indication of affection in a long time – years, it was likely. But that wasn't Ikkaku's style. Despite his friendship with Yumichika, he was still a loner in his heart, and all their years of togetherness had not changed that.

Yes, yes, it had.

He could not lie to himself. He _wanted_ to be a loner. He _wanted_ to believe he was beyond need, that companionship was something weaklings needed. He needed no one.

But as much as he wanted to believe that of himself, he knew it wasn't true. He did need someone. He needed the one person he hated more than any other at that moment.

_"Stop it,"_ Ikkaku demanded of himself. _"Okay, you cared about him, even though you never wanted to. And he deceived you the whole time you've known him. He pretended to be something he wasn't, and he lied about it. He's no different from the others. You don't need him. Even the thought of him is making you angry. So, that's it. He's not coming back, and you don't want him to. Just put him out of your mind."_

If only it were that easy.

* * *

The evening was pleasant as Yumichika looked out across the sea towards the darkening mountains on the far side. He could see occasional flashes of light in the sky – signs of an approaching storm, but it would not be on this side of the water for another hour or two.

In the meantime, Yumichika thought about going for a swim – or at least a dip to wash some of the past few days' grime from his body. His meticulous grooming had become a thing of the past. Over the past two months he couldn't even be bothered to keep up his few items of clothing. There had been entire days when he'd not changed out of his night shift. Entire days when he'd not left the hutch, not seen a single person.

Kaekae came by often – at least every other day – to check on him and bring him food or fuel for a lantern scavenged from another hutch. He'd also provided some coarse blankets and an old worn kimono, which Yumichika graciously accepted and even wore on cooler nights.

Of course, there had been some tense moments when a villager or two had come out to the marsh for various reasons, and Yumichika had waited in tense anticipation of being discovered, but he'd been fortunate. The villagers would conclude their business and move on. Two months had passed and only Kaekae knew of his presence.

He climbed down the ladder to the walkway and slipped the shift off his shoulders. He made a shallow dive into the water, skimming just below the surface. He came back up after a lengthy glide, feeling refreshed but not rejuvenated. The water felt good against his skin, so he paddled out a bit and floated in the open water for some time. The memory of the last time he had done this bobbed about in his mind . . . the show he had put on for his voyeurs: Ikkaku and . . . no, he didn't want to think of the other man.

A flash in the sky followed by a louder roll of thunder disrupted his recollections and told him that the storm was too close now for comfort. He swam back to the walkway and climbed out. He put the shift back on and as it clung to his wet body, he could not help but notice how thin he'd become. He'd always been slight, but since coming back to Mito, his once voracious appetite had dried up, and it took a concentrated effort for him to force himself to eat.

It wasn't beautiful – the way he looked now, but beauty had ceased to play such an important role in his life. Part of the reason was that he could not convince himself that it mattered; he had no one to whom he could show his beauty, except Kaekae, and he would have been just as fond of him had Yumichika been hideous. And the other reason was that he feared whatever remained in him of Ruri'iro Kujaku.

Since leaving the zanpakuto back in the Seireitei, he'd not heard his voice once, although he was certain the peacock could reach him, even over so formidable a distance. He'd not felt his lingering reiatsu inside him, even though their inner worlds were inseparable. He'd made a point of rejecting everything that Ruri'iro Kujaku represented: beauty, carefree abandon, sensuality, power and strength.

Yumichika wanted none of it. He almost wished Ruri'iro Kujaku were there to see what he'd reduced his master to – what levels of degradation, what wretchedness of soul.

As he climbed the ladder, a stab of self-pity almost found its way into his heart, but the sound of unexpected voices deflected it.

"Someone's living here, that's for sure—"

In the next moment, he came face-to-face with two people coming out of the hutch. A man and a woman, and he knew them both. The woman was the village's vegetable monger. The man was Yori. They had both been his customers, and he had been theirs.

"Yumichika-san?" the woman gasped.

"Miri," Yumichika said in acknowledgment, his spine growing stiff and his throat constricting.

"What are you doing here? And what—what's happened to you?" Miri asked.

Yumichika did not reply.

Yori spoke up. "I can't believe this. I can't believe you'd come back here. It was incredible enough to year you had survived, but to come back here?" A snide grin curled his lip. "You thinkin' about starting up the old business again?"

Still, Yumichika was silent. In truth, he was too horrified at the sight of Yori to think of anything other than the terrible events of that night . . .

Miri spoke again . "How long have you been back?"

At last, Yumichika found his voice. "A couple months. I don't want anyone to know I'm here."

Yori eyed him with contempt. "Why should we keep it secret? First you sneak out, now you sneak back in—"

"You know why I left—"

"It wasn't anything you didn't deserve," Yori interrupted. " Is Madarame with you?"

Miri tugged on Yori's sleeve. "Leave him alone, Yori. Go back to the village. I'll follow. You know we can't be seen together, so go on."

Yori gave Yumichika one more disapproving glance, then to Miri, "Don't be long – and watch yourself with him."

Once Yori was out of earshot and had disappeared into the gathering darkness, Miri pulled Yumichika inside the hutch.

"So, what _are_ you doing back here? Don't tell me you've left the Shinigami? We all heard you'd joined the Gotei 13. Why are you here?" she asked anxiously.

"It's a long story, and it's private—"

Miri stepped closer until their bodies were touching. "We've been private before. What can there possibly be that you can't tell me?"

Yumichika grimaced. Her very presence was making him feel ill and bringing back memories that he had worked hard to forget.

"Miri, please . . . " He gently pushed her away.

She was persistent, reaching out to take his hand. "It must have been something terrible to bring you back here."

Yumichika ignored her repeated attempts to get him to tell why he had returned, and he politely retreated from her touch.

"Miri, can I trust you not to tell anyone that you've seen me?" he asked.

"I guess so, but it won't matter. Yori will tell them."

"Maybe you can convince him not to."

Miri looked doubtful. "That's unlikely, but I'll do my best." She leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. "You owe me."

* * *

Hoozukimaru came up from the water once more in frustration. He was still inside his own world, surrounded by the volcanic heat of his lair.

Four months had passed since his master's discovery of Ruri'iro Kujaku's true abilities, and since then the dragon had not been able to enter the peacock's world.

Had Ikkaku found a way to prevent him from going there? Or was this Yumichika's doing?

Or had Ruri'iro Kujaku himself put up some kind of barrier to keep Hoozukimaru out?

Was the peacock angry at Hoozukimaru for the actions of his master? Perhaps he was too mired in misery to radiate the openness that had made it possible for the dragon to enter his sanctuary.

Hoozukimaru could not even see him in the pool's reflection. He was cut off from him completely.

And this was cause for worry.

When he had tried to address the matter with his own master, he'd been rebuffed and scolded, often angrily. It was clear to Hoozukimaru that his master was not dealing well with the situation. Of course not! Ikkaku had made a hasty, ill-founded decision based on heated emotions and a faulty sense of self-righteousness. He'd made a mistake and maybe he even knew it – but his bruised ego would not allow him to admit it.

Hoozukimaru had spent a lot of time in attempts to convince his master to go out and search for Yumichika – not only for the sake of Soul Society in this battle with the black demons, but for his own sake.

Absent Ayasegawa's refining touch, Ikkaku had devolved, in four short months, into something vulgar and crude, underwritten by wretchedness. No one and nothing made him happy – not even his beloved Captain Zaraki. He had no fire, no passion for anything – not even fighting. He and Hoozukimaru had not had a civil word between them, with every conversation spiraling up towards shouting matches that culminated in the dragon's repeated threats to manifest and go search for Yumichika on his own.

But he never acted on those threats.

Because he knew.

He knew that his master could not go on like this forever. With every passing day, Hoozukimaru felt the deepening despair, the inevitable tipping of the scales. True, the sense of betrayal had not lessened, and his master still felt as if he'd been made a fool of; but Hoozukimaru was aware of things even if Ikkaku refused to concede them. His master had lived his entire life, here and in the living world, running from the one thing he desired more than any other. That he'd found just the very thing in Ayasegawa was something that anyone could see, unless they were purposefully blinding themselves.

Hoozukimaru was convinced that, eventually, his master would come to his senses and recognize that he'd cast off the only person in his life who really mattered.

Until then, the dragon would continue his scolding and curb his actions, for the last thing he needed was to drag the two into each others' presence too quickly, before they were ready to make amends. And yet, it was proving difficult . . . for one reason.

Hoozukimaru could not help himself. He had only one worry.

Ruri'iro Kujaku.

* * *

_**So, I know some of you were happy to see Kaekae again! He seemed to be a popular character. I hope to have the next chapter ready to go early next week. Peace, love and good vibes!**_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 Descent

"_Breakdown on the shoreline.  
__Can't move, it's an ebb tide.  
__Morning won't get here tonight,  
__Searching for her silver light.  
__Now my old world is gone for dead,  
__Cause I can't get it out of my head."_

_Can't Get it Out of My Head  
_Jeff Lynne

* * *

Ruri'iro Kujaku hated this place.

Hate might not be a strong enough word.

He loathed it with every fiber of his being, wished it could be swept away in some great calamity – was tempted to create such a disaster himself in order to wipe it from Soul Society for the rest eternity.

The fact that his master had chosen this place to return to, this village and its horrific inhabitants, was proof of the agonized state of mind overpowering his master.

Ever since the day of Madarame's discovery and Yumichika's quasi-banishment of the peacock, Ruri'iro Kujaku had ensconced himself in the shrine, despondent and morose.

He had come so close . . . he and his master had been on the verge of a break-through, perhaps on the cusp of a reconciliation . . .

And then any chance at mending their damaged relationship had been shattered to pieces.

It was odd. Ruri'iro Kujaku had long desired to be revealed – not only to Madarame, but to everyone. Now, that revelation had been made, and his master's life was destroyed. Ruri'iro had always anticipated that there would be some pain involved, but he'd also believed that either Madarame would relent and accept Yumichika's kido nature or that Yumichika, once faced with such blatant rejection and hostility, would willfully choose to terminate the relationship. Either way, the peacock would have his master back, and that was all that mattered.

Now, he had discovered that he'd been wrong on all accounts, and that possessing Yumichika was not all that mattered, for he could not possess someone who was ceasing to live. And that was exactly what was happening to his master. He was shrinking down to existence only.

The moment Ruri'iro had realized that Yumichika was heading back to Mito, he'd been tempted to break in upon his thoughts and demand a change of plans. He could not manifest, his swordform having been left back in the Seireitei – even he was not powerful enough to manifest over such a distance. But his spirit, residing within Yumichika's inner world, was still able to make use of his master's senses, and at a point in the journey where the destination became clear, it also became clear to Ruri'iro Kujaku just how devastated his master was.

Why? Why in creation would he return to the scene of such violence upon his person? Why would he expose himself to the possibility of it happening again? It seemed, to Ruri'iro Kujaku, like a descent into madness, the slow unraveling of sense and reason, a purposeful compounding of pain.

And yet, Ruri'iro held his peace, for he knew any intervention would be angrily rejected.

On top of all that, he also had not heard from Hoozukimaru in the intervening months. The dragon had not come into his world nor communicated through the mirrors, and the peacock did not know why. Was he being blocked by Madarame? Or his own master? He knew the dragon was alright, for he could sense his reiatsu – virile and vibrant as ever. But all contact between them had been severed.

And now that his master's presence had been detected, Ruri'iro was more concerned about the lack of contact than ever. If things degenerated, as he was sure they must, how would he be able to bring help? He could not manifest, and he was unable to send word to Hoozukimaru, so even Madarame would not be able to help. But then again, perhaps that was the idea . . . Madarame wanted no further involvement with Yumichika, not even to save his life, if it came down to it.

The bottom line was that Yumichika was on his own and seemed uninterested in and unwilling to fight for what he wanted. He'd given in . . . just as Ruri'iro Kujaku had always wanted.

And yet, this was not how the kujaku had wanted it to turn out.

Not at all.

* * *

Another attack.

Six months had passed since the creatures' first appearance, and since then the attacks had become more frequent, more daring, and more costly in terms of lives lost.

Precisely where the creatures were coming from and how they entered Soul Society was still a mystery, one that even Captain Kurotsuchi's team struggled with. The enemy seemed to materialize out of nowhere, absorb the spirit energy of anyone they encountered, and meet head-on any confrontation with the Gotei 13.

It took a concentrated effort to drive them into retreat, and even then, it was not a true defeat – only a reprieve – for they always returned. The use of a zanpakuto's released form did little to halt them, as any assault scattered the creatures into hundreds of single entities. Only a direct hit to the globe inside the head could destroy the creatures – and even then, unless their dusty remains were gathered up and sealed away, they were reclaimed by the enemy for reincorporation into the whole. Even more perturbing: getting a clear shot at the head globes was getting harder and harder. The creatures adapted quickly to different forms of attack, and the ability to mutate their own body parts into shields and weapons made even such venerable zanpakuto as Senbonzakura and Hyorinmaru only nominally effective in released form. Like all the others, they were most useful in sword form against this enemy.

All attempts to communicate with the creatures had met with failure. Either there was no understanding or it was a purposeful rejection of the attempts. Thus, the reason for the aggression was unknown – unless it was simply to feed, to fulfill a biological necessity.

Ikkaku didn't buy that. Not one bit. Yumichika had said back at the first encounter that the creature radiated a wicked energy. Wickedness involved intent. The underlying intent behind the attacks was what concerned Ikkaku – more so than the tactical battles being fought.

What were the creatures trying to accomplish? The elimination of all souls in Soul Society? If so, to what end?

Ikkaku slid Hoozukimaru back into his scabbard and surveyed the results of the latest battle. All around him lay black dust – remnants of defeated but not destroyed enemies. There were also the faded bodies of the souls that had been rescued from the creatures' clutches. Fourth Division was already on the scene to give fresh infusions of spirit energy to those who could be saved.

How many souls had succumbed and already vanished could only be guessed at. And Ikkaku was not interested in guessing. He wasn't even interested in fighting this particular enemy any more. He'd seen enough to know that he wanted nothing now except the annihilation of every last one of them. Unlike his captain, who was still taking joy in the fight, Ikkaku had grown tired of this enemy whose numbers never seemed to lessen.

"You okay?"

Ikkaku glanced to his side to see Shuhei Hisagi.

"Yeah, just . . . bored, I guess," he replied.

"Huh, that's an interesting answer. I'd have thought you'd be thrilled, you love to fight so much," Hisagi noted.

"It's not fighting when there's no sense of victory or defeat. These things just keep coming. They split into more parts. They gather up the pieces and reform. Where's the victory?" Ikkaku groused.

"The victory is in staying alive," Hisagi replied. He paused, then added, "I wish we knew more about them." Another pause. "I wish Ayasegawa were here."

Ikkaku felt like he'd been blind-sided. Most of his fellow Soul Reapers studiously avoided mentioning that particular name. His voice was contained as he spoke. "Yumichika? Why?"

"Because his zanpakuto has the same ability as these creatures. He might have been able to help us in some way. Or at least give us an understanding of how that ability works," Hisagi explained.

"I doubt it," Ikkaku said dismissively. "But it doesn't matter anyway, cause he's not here, and he's not coming back. Besides, he can barely manage Ruri'iro Kujaku as it is. He wouldn't be any help."

Hisagi gave a one-shouldered shrug. "He can handle him well enough. He defeated me with him."

Ikkaku looked at him with surprise. "What?"

"I gave him my word I would never tell anyone, but I guess it doesn't matter now," Hisagi began. "You remember when Ichigo and his friends first infiltrated Soul Society? Captain Komamura and Captain Tosen confronted Captain Zaraki."

"Yeah."

"You fought Lieutenant Iba. I fought Ayasegawa. Didn't you ever wonder how he managed to defeat me? After all, I was a lieutenant, and he was only a fifth seat."

"I just figured a fifth seat in Zaraki's division was stronger than a lieutenant in any other squad," Ikkaku replied.

"Well, that may be so, but I was beating him soundly until he sneaked a little surprise in on me. He released his full shikai." He shook his head at the memory. "I'd never seen anything like it. I couldn't even fight against it. The more reiatsu I released, the more it drained from me." He fixed Ikkaku with a serious eye. "He could have killed me if he'd wanted to, but he didn't. He said it wasn't his desire to kill me, just to give his captain the time he needed. He let me go and said all he wanted from me was that I not tell anyone about his secret."

Ikkaku felt a new sense of betrayal creeping up his spine. Yumichika had revealed his secret to someone else and then insisted that it still be kept under wraps.

"And you never told anyone?"

"I was too embarrassed," Hisagi replied. "How could I admit that a lowly fifth seat had defeated me? Besides . . . Yumichika showed restraint. I wanted to show him that I could do the same."

Ikkaku turned away to hide the anger that was taking over his countenance.

"I understand why he was so secretive about it," Hisagi went on. "But I never thought it was such a big deal that it would—that you two would stop being friends over it."

Ikkaku said nothing.

Hisagi, sensing the foul disposition of his companion, changed the subject back to his original contention. "Well, I'd rather have Yumichika come back and see if his zanpakuto can shed some light on this thing than watch week after week as our casualties mount."

Ikkaku glowered. "Well, he's not coming back, and I'm not going to go get him, so stop thinking about it. Stop talking about it."

"You know, you're a selfish bastard."

Hisagi's words stunned Ikkaku. "Souls are being destroyed. Shinigami are dying. And all you care about is your own bruised ego. And I'm going to tell you straight out – being mad about the fact that Yumichika's zanpakuto is kido-based is not only selfish, but foolish. Don't you realize the situation he's in? His zanpakuto has one of the most dangerous and powerful abilities I've ever seen. And because of you, he hasn't even been able to develop it fully. If you had acted differently, you might have had the chance to help him learn how to work with Ruri'iro Kujaku. You might have helped him achieve bankai."

"Ha!" Ikkaku harrumphed. "He's nowhere near achieving bankai. I told you, he can barely control Ruri'iro Kujaku in shikai. And they hate each other. He didn't even take the damned thing with—" He stopped himself, hoping Hisagi would not complete the sentence.

But it was too late.

"Didn't take . . . what?" Shuhei asked.

"Nothing," Ikkaku said in a clipped voice.

"He didn't take Ruri'iro Kujaku with him?"

"I don't know," Ikkaku said, sounding irritated, but he did not retreat, giving Shuhei the hope that he was actually willing to talk.

"Ikkaku, did he leave Ruri'iro Kujaku here?"

Ikkaku nodded. "Yes, yes." His manner was flustered. "He left him in his room in the officers' quarters. I found him and . . . I didn't want to risk someone else finding him or him going rogue like Muramasa."

"Where is he now?"

"In my room." A pause. "Though not for long. I hate having him there. He has—his reiatsu is so strong, and it's like having—it's like . . . having Yumichika there. I never realized how alike the two of them are." He lowered his eyes. "And I can't believe I never recognized the nature of their spirit energy."

"No one recognized it."

"But we were together all the time. I was his closest friend. He was mine. How could I have missed it all those years?" His words almost had the sound of a lament.

"It doesn't matter, Ikkaku," Hisagi said. "What matters is you have to get Ruri'iro Kujaku back to him. And you have to get Yumichika to come here and try to—"

"No." Madarame was adamant. "Shuhei . . . it's been six months. And it hasn't been easy. I don't want to see him – at all. I'm still too angry, but I'm also . . . I'm afraid of how I'd feel if I saw him again."

That's when it became clear – to Shuhei, at least. Ikkaku, despite his bluster and stubborn attempts at indifference, was hurting. Yumichika had been the greater part of his life, and it seemed he was just now coming to realize it.

"We need his help, Ikkaku," Shuhei said plaintively. "We need Ruri'iro Kujaku, and only Yumichika can wield him."

"Why don't you go?" Ikkaku suggested.

"Because you're the only one who can bring him back," Hisagi said. "And no one else would even know where to look. Ikkaku, you've got to do it."

"We don't know if Ruri'iro Kujaku will be of any use—" Ikkaku protested, not at all liking the course the conversation was taking.

"That's not what you said during the debriefing," Shuhei reminded him. "You said Ruri'iro Kujaku sucked the thing dry and exploded it in an instant."

Ikkaku wished he had kept that little detail a secret.

Shuhei continued. "Ikkaku, if nothing else, you need to return Ruri'iro Kujaku to him. They're supposed to be together. Maybe this will give them a chance to have a better relationship."

Ikkaku sighed. "Yumichika was trying to make things better before this happened. They—they had been very close at one time."

"Ikkaku, I can only try to convince you, but you've got to make the decision. We could use his help," Shuhei concluded. "I know it's not easy, but . . . put the safety of Soul Society ahead of your own feelings."

"I'll think about it," Ikkaku replied. "But don't hold your breath."

* * *

The view from the Squad One barracks never failed to impress Juushiro. And it would not be inaccurate to say that he hoped, one day, that view might be his own.

If only it didn't come with such a weight of responsibility.

Out on the north-facing colonnade overlooking the city below, Head Captain Yamamoto stood looking out with an expression of pensive wisdom. Juushiro never felt hesitant or intimidated about approaching him; and having Shunsui with him always made it feel like a reunion of sorts, harkening back to those days long ago when the two had been students at the Academy and Genryusai had been the headmaster.

But Juushiro did feel a measure of apprehension this time, and so he stopped several yards short and waited in silence with Shunsui.

Yamamoto spoke without looking at them. "You have something you wish to tell me, children?"

The only soul in all of the Gotei 13 who looked upon Captains Ukitake and Kyoraku as children was Genyrusai Yamamoto. From the days of their training, when they had been young and inexperienced; one of them impetuous, bold and lazy; the other reserved, calculating and a keen judge of situations and people, Yamamoto had viewed them as his own sons, opposite ends of the same stick, as closely bound as any two true brothers could be. They made a tremendous team – the most powerful team in the entire Gotei 13.

And so the fact that they were coming to visit him now told Genyrusai that they had come up with something between them.

"Yes, Head Captain," Juushiro replied. "It's about the demons. You know—you know that Fifth Seat Ayasegawa was able to defeat them with his zanpakuto." A pause as he looked at Shunsui. "Captain Kyoraku and I both believe that Ayasegawa's zanpakuto is an Atmen."

Yamamoto still did not face them. After a brief silence, he asked, "What makes you think so?"

Shunsui answered. "He can take reiatsu. He can heal."

Juushiro added, "Ayasegawa said there's a shrine in his inner world."

At last, Yamamoto faced them. "You are correct. He _is _an Atmen."

Captain Kyoraku regarded him curiously. "You already knew that, didn't you?"

"From the moment Ayasegawa entered the gates of the Gotei 13," Yamamoto replied. "Even before that." Seeing the surprise on his captains' faces, he continued. "I've been around enough Atmens to know when they are approaching. I felt him coming even when he was still quite far off." He began walking slowly along the colonnade; his companions followed. "Admittedly, I was surprised at the character of his power. I've known Atmen that were foolishly bold, insanely brilliant . . . even one that was as ignorant as an imbecile. But I've never known one whose essence is seduction. I must credit Ayasegawa with one thing: he kept that aspect of his zanpakuto considerably under control."

"We don't think he knows he's carrying an Atmen," Juushiro stated.

"It is unlikely he's ever even heard the term," Genyrusai replied. "It's been centuries since the last one. It's not a common topic of discussion." A pause. "He knows nothing about his zanpakuto, other than his hatred for it."

"That can't be good," Shunsui said.

"If it keeps him from using its Atmen abilities, then it is good." Yamamoto's words surprised them.

"But I thought the Atmen abilities were good—" Juushiro began.

"They are good if used for the right purposes," the head captain replied. "Indiscriminate use of one's power results in chaos. You both should have learned as much from watching Orihime Inoue."

Shunsui furrowed his brow as Juushiro colored in embarrassment.

"She had the power to undo events," Yamamoto went on. "Which she used injudiciously for both Aizen's forces and those of Soul Society. So, you see, children, it will be better if Ayasegawa remains estranged from his zanpakuto and never learns its full abilities."

"But—but there's no reason to think he would make the same mistakes as Orihime," Juushiro pointed out.

"But if he did, his mistakes would not be as easily corrected," Genyrusai replied. "Inoue is able to manipulate time and space to the limited extent of her powers." He eyed them both with gravity. "Manipulating life and existence, bringing something out of nothing, is power on a much grander scale. It's a power Ayasegawa is unequipped to handle. Leave him be. Wherever he is, he's better off."

"But he was the only one who could truly destroy the enemy—" Shunsui began.

"We will find other means," Yamamoto stated. "Squad Twelve is working on it."

"I don't understand," Juushiro protested. "You would rather see more Shinigami fall to this creature than bring Ayasegawa back to fight?"

"Now, you're being foolish," Yamamoto chastised. "Even if you begged Ayasegawa to come back, he would refuse. He was only here because of Madarame, and if Madarame doesn't want him, he won't come back. But let me answer your question. Yes, I would rather see more Shinigami fall until we find another way to defeat this enemy than risk the awakening of an Atmen that cannot be controlled or is used to the detriment of Soul Society."

"It's unfair," Juushiro accused.

Yamamoto put a hand on Juushiro's shoulder. "No. It would be unfair to drag Ayasegawa back into a situation he can't win and possibly end up unleashing a power that he has neither the strength nor the experience to control. Leaving the Gotei 13 was the best thing for him, even if it doesn't appear that way at the moment."

Neither Juushiro nor Shunsui was convinced, but it was clear the discussion was over.

Now, only time would tell.

* * *

"So, it's true."

Yumichika's head jerked up at the sound of a voice he had not heard in years – a voice that should have terrified him. It was testimony to just how deeply he had sunk that he could feel nothing but a dull sense of surprise.

He looked at the man standing in the doorway and felt as if he had stepped off the precipice into hell. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I heard some reports that you were back, but I didn't believe them. I had to come see for myself." Hinsamoi stepped inside. "And now I see. It's true. You've come back."

Yumichika did not move from his place on the floor.

"I never thought I'd see you again," Hinsamoi went on. "What could have happened to bring you back here, of all places?"

Yumichika was silent.

"Did they finally figure out what you are and cast you out of the Gotei 13?"

As close to the mark as this was, Yumichika maintained his silence.

"It had to be something serious or you'd never have come back here. And alone." He paused. "Where's Madamare?"

Yumichika lowered his eyes. This was answer enough.

The man grinned. "Did he abandon you? Or did you abandon him?"

The question was met with silence.

Hinsamoi moved over and hunkered down in front of him, regarding him with scrutiny. "I see the scars are completely gone . . . like it never happened. I guess the years can erase anything." A pause. "You look different with short hair," he remarked, then reached out to touch the yellow and red feathers, now badly tattered, still adorning Yumichika's right eye.

Yumichika retreated from his outstretched hand.

"These are an interesting touch," he said, ignoring Yumichika's discomfort. "You're still beautiful."

"Don't." Yumichika finally spoke, but his voice carried no authority.

Faced with this response, Hinsamoi tried another tack. "You must be hungry. You always had a voracious appetite. And you'll need oil for that lantern. I can help you."

"I don't want your help," Yumichika replied in a guarded voice. "I haven't forgotten what you did to me."

Hinsamoi gave a dramatic sigh. "That was a long time ago. And we only did it because you denied us. You let Madarame convince you that were too good for us. You let him change everything we had created. We wanted you back."

For the first time, Yumichika felt something other than the dull ache deep in his soul. He felt a spark of rage, faint but definitely present.

"Are you . . . trying to defend what you did?"

"No, I'm just—"

"You left me for dead," Yumichika accused.

"Things got carried away—"

"You wanted revenge."

Hinsamoi hesitated then put on his most sympathetic face. "It was wrong of us. But it's in the past, and you're back and we have a chance to start over."

"I don't want to start over," Yumichika replied. "I just want to be left alone."

"If that were true, you wouldn't have come back here. You know you can't survive without the help of others," he said with insidious gentleness. "This can be a chance for things to go back to the way they were – before Madarame came along and ruined it all."

He took hold of Yumichika's arms and stood up, drawing the slighter man up with him. His touch drove a rigidity into Yumichika's spine, and suddenly the fear was back. And Hinsamoi knew it.

"I can tell just by looking at you – all those years you were gone, those years in the Gotei 13 – you haven't changed. They tried to change you. Madarame tried to change you. But you're still the same person you've always been. You want the attention. You need the attention. Let me help."

"Just leave me."

Hinsamoi eyed him closely. "You were in the Gotei 13. You could kill me just like that. I'm sure you want to. Why aren't you taking revenge?"

"I don't care about revenge. I just want you to leave me alone," Yumichika repeated. "Can't you do that? Can't you leave me alone?"

Hinsamoi drew him closer and examined his face carefully, causing Yumichika to avert his gaze.

At last, he said, "Maybe you _have_ changed. You're so withdrawn, so careless of your appearance. What did they do to you in the Seireitei? What happened that made you decide to come back here? Or are you looking for what you lost all those years ago? It's what you want, even if you don't realize it." He paused. "The only way I'll stay away is if you force me. Are you going to force me? You don't seem willing to fight."

Yumichika didn't even have the will or strength to argue. The truth was that he just didn't care. Whatever might happen to him, he didn't care.

Maybe this really was what he had come back for.

"You can do whatever you want," he replied. "It doesn't matter anymore."

He meant it.

* * *

_The one who had been able to kill them had been gone for six months._

_Of course, he knew why. _

_The barbaric captain of Squad Eleven had kicked him out. It was the 'no kido' thing. A stupid rule. Idiotic, really. But ultimately, it was working for his benefit: victories against the Shinigami were easy once again._

_He listened to the conversation in the streets of the Seireitei, and sometimes he could barely hold in his laughter. Where had such an enemy come from? What was its purpose? Was there any way to communicate with it? How were they to destroy it for good and all?_

_The fools. And he truly meant 'fools.' _

_There they were, running around and fretting over how to destroy the enemy. Yet, they already had the answer. The former fifth seat was that answer, but no one had been dispatched to bring him back. Who knew what idiotic reasons they had for not retrieving him, but it was only further proof that the leadership of the Gotei 13 had little sense for successfully waging battle._

_Oh, how he would have liked to have incorporated the fifth seat's power into the whole. He had almost had it . . . at the very beginning. But then something had happened—he still wasn't quite sure what it had been—and the opportunity was lost, never to come again. After that, the zanpakuto spirit had been always vigilant._

_The zanpakuto spirit . . . Fuji Kujaku. Or now, as he knew, Ruri'iro Kujaku. How often had his heart overflowed with a lascivious desire to possess the weapon? Of all the zanpakuto spirits, of all the reiatsu infused into the pieces of metal forged in the furnaces, of all the blades that bore the marks of their masters' souls, why had this one so captured him?_

_Yes, it was seductive. Everyone knew that. But he didn't feel as if he were being seduced. No, this felt more like . . . entitlement. Ayasegawa did not deserve such a beautiful weapon, especially now that its true power had been revealed. Such a zanpakuto should be in the hands of someone who would revere and cherish it – not hide it in the shadows for the sake of a band of blood-thirsty hotheads._

_And it wasn't right that a soul such as Ayasegawa's should have brought forth such a weapon! Why was it that the most beautiful, the most powerful zanpakuto came directly from the souls of their Shinigami? _

"_If I were a Shinigami, my zanpakuto would the most powerful of all!"_

"_We are the most powerful of all. And you are our master."_

_He smiled. "You're right. You're right, my friends. And soon, when the last of Shinigami fall, I promise you, you will find your ways into the hands of deserving masters, ones who recognize that without you, there can be no Gotei 13."_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Dear Reader, This is a fairly long chapter and well . . . it's got some brutality in it. Nothing too horrible, but bad enough :-) I do want to make two comments: 1) A lot of the "talk" in this chapter will read like political overtures, but I assure you: I am not making any kind of political statement. I shy away from that in my writing, but I have to give the characters motives. 2) A lot of fans see Yumichika's kido power as a kind of allusion to homosexuality. For my own part, I have never seen it that way. I know this will sound odd, but I actually do not view Yumichika in terms of his sexuality. Most characters in the story view him in those terms, and they are always invariably shown to be underestimating or pigeon-holing him. Therefore, in the final scene of this chapter, I am not making any statement for or against homosexuality. I view Yumichika's kido as any other aspect of a person: it can be embraced or rejected. Again, I am not drawing a parallel between kido and homosexuality. I think that's just too . . . simplistic! Peace, TK**_

Chapter 5 Reason Too Late

"_Isn't it a strange world with you and me,  
__Gazing at each other through a misty sea of what might have been."_

_The Western Sky  
_

* * *

Justin Hayward

Ikkaku sat up and rubbed his hand over his head.

A glance at the clock showed that it was almost midnight. He'd turned in early that night, almost three hours ago, only to find himself lying awake, his thoughts swirling like clouds on a stormy day.

He could not stop seeing them.

The vines.

In Yumichika's hand.

He'd seen them every night for the past eight months. Whether in his dreams or his memory, the image was vivid. The sight was seared into his brain. The moment was forever frozen and etched into eternity. The recollection of the overwhelming reiatsu he had felt still lingered in his body.

Eight months.

Eight damned months and the intensity of the memory was not fading. If anything, it was growing more powerful. Or perhaps it wasn't the memory that was exerting its power.

He rolled onto his knees beside the sleeping roll and slid the bed's platform away from the wall. There lay Ruri'iro Kujaku.

What the hell was he doing hanging onto it? He couldn't pretend any longer that he was trying to ensure that the zanpakuto did not go rogue like Muramasa. Nor could he pretend that he was keeping watch over a power that had now lost its master.

He stared hatefully at the weapon. "I can't keep you here anymore. I can't stand you. I don't want you here." He reached down and took the sword in his hands. A shiver went through his body, and a choked cry of anguish escaped his lips. "You're too much like him," he groaned. "And I need to forget him. You—you're making me—I can't stop thinking about him."

"That's your own fault."

Ikkaku spun around on his knee to see Hoozukimaru standing behind him.

"What the hell are you doing out here?" Ikkaku demanded.

"Listening to you trying to soothe your guilty conscience," the dragon replied, stepping forward and taking Ruri'iro Kujaku from his master's hands.

"I don't need your involvement," Ikkaku snapped.

"You don't know what you need," Hoozukimaru said. "If you did, you'd have gone to find him already. Instead, you go from day to day . . . running from anything that reminds you of him, and on top of that, you've taken Ruri'iro Kujaku away from me."

Ikkaku looked at him with a scowl. "What are you talking about? You've got him right there in your hands. I didn't do anything to take him away from you."

"I can't go into his world anymore," Hoozukimaru said accusatively. "I can't see him in the water. I can't even hear his voice!"

"That's not my doing," Ikkaku shot back. "Did you ever stop to think maybe Yumichika's doing it?"

Hoozukimaru grit his teeth. "Even if he is the one doing it, you're still the one responsible. This is all your fault—"

"We've already this argument a hundred times—"

"Then make it a hundred and one! Damn it, master! If you're never going to forgive him, then you put yourself at odds with me! I've never disobeyed you, but you're—right now, you're making it hard to obey—"

"Stop talking," Ikkaku interrupted. "You should know what I'm going through. Why does everyone think this was so easy for me—"

"I don't think it was easy for you," the dragon cut him off. "I think . . . it's killing you a little bit every day. Just like it's killing me to—to be without—" His voice caught for a moment. "Master, at least return Ruri'iro Kujaku to him. If they're together, maybe—maybe I'll be able to—"

A knock came at the door.

Ikkaku was still for a moment. Who would be coming to see him at this hour? He went to the door and opened it.

Much to his surprise, Mendalo stood facing him in the candlelit darkness.

"Mendalo? What—what are you doing here?"

"Ikkaku-san." Mendalo sounded anxious. "I was just at Yumichika's room. What's happened? He's gone. Someone else is living there."

"Uh . . . uh, come in," Ikkaku said, stepping aside. "There's a lot to tell you."

Entering the room, Mendalo came to an abrupt halt upon seeing Hoozukimaru, still in manifested state.

"This is Hoozukimaru," Ikkaku said.

"Hoozukimaru," Mendalo breathed. "Your zanpakuto."

"Ever since the whole thing with Muramasa, most of the zanpakuto can manifest on their own," Ikkaku explained.

"I heard about Muramasa," Mendalo said, then his face took on a stricken appearance. "Yumichika wasn't . . . Muramasa was defeated . . . oh no, no, did something happen to Yumichika?"

"No," Ikkaku assured him right away. "Nothing happened to him. The fact is . . . Yumichika left."

Mendalo looked at him in bewilderment. "Left?"

"Yeah . . . about eight months ago," Ikkaku replied, painfully conscious of Hoozukimaru standing behind him, listening to every word.

"But why? Why would he leave?" Mendalo asked incredulously. "Ikkaku, what happened?!"

"You, uh, have you heard about the new enemy? The black demons?" Ikkaku asked.

"Yes," Mendalo replied. "That's why I'm here two months early. With all the Shinigami and zanpakuto that have been destroyed, Central 46 sent for the sword smiths ahead of schedule, to start forging more zanpakuto. They said it was urgent."

"Well . . . we've been fighting them almost continually for the past eight months," Ikkaku said. "During the first battle, Yumichika . . . revealed his full shikai."

"His full shikai?" Mendalo asked.

"Fuji Kujaku was only a partial release," Ikkaku continued. "His zanpakuto's real name is Ruri'iro Kujaku, and he's a kido-based weapon."

Ikkaku was surprised at Mendalo's placid reaction. The sword smith nodded slowly. "Just as I always suspected," he said. "There's always been something about Yumichika's abilities that seemed . . . more than purely physical."

"You knew?"

"I wasn't sure, but after having worked with zanpakuto—and Shinigami—for so long, I have a pretty good feel for such things. I thought Yumichika probably had a lot more power with kido than he was showing," Mendalo replied.

Yeah," Ikkaku swallowed. "But you know the rules in Zaraki's Squad."

"No kido," Mendalo said. "So, did he go to another squad?"

It was Hoozukimaru who answered. "He left the Gotei 13. He left the Seireitei. No one knows where he is." He held up Ruri'iro Kujaku. "And he left his zanpakuto here."

"But—but why would he leave? There are other kido-based zanpakuto in the Gotei 13. He could have gone to another squad." He narrowed his eyes. "They didn't kick him out, did they?"

"Captain Zaraki kicked him out of Twelfth Squad, but he . . . he didn't want to go to any other squad—"

"I—I can't believe he would ever agree to leave you," Mendalo said. "All these years, you've been the only thing that's mattered to him."

"Tell him, master," Hoozukimaru chimed in. "Tell him why Little Pretty left."

Ikkaku hesitated.

"Ikkaku?" Mendalo pressed.

Ikkaku drew in a deep breath. "I, uh . . . I was angry because he had lied to me all those years, and I told him . . . I, uh . . . "

"You told him you never wanted to see him again," Hoozukimaru completed the sentence. "You told him your friendship was over. You took away everything that was important to him."

"Is this true?" Mendalo asked, hardly able to believe what he was hearing.

Ikkaku felt his face growing warm. "It's true."

"Then you'd better find a way to fix it."

Ikkaku had expected a tirade, so once again he was surprised that Mendalo was composed and sensible. Mendalo's reaction reminded Ikkaku once more of the reasons why the sword smith was a better friend and companion to Yumichika than he himself had ever been.

"I can't leave to look for him," Mendalo explained. "Soul Society faces an existential threat from this enemy, and I have to do my part to help fight this war. I've seen the aftermath of some of the places they've attacked. It's going to take every weapon we have to defeat them. And every man. You need to find Yumichika and bring him back."

Hoozukimaru spoke up again. "Ruri'iro Kujaku is still the only weapon that can fully destroy the creatures."

Mendalo looked at the dragon. "What do you mean?"

"When the creatures are destroyed, they turn into that black dust," Hoozukimaru replied. "But that dust can be gathered back into the creature. When Ruri'iro Kujaku destroys them, he steals their spirit energy, and they can't be reincorporated."

"Steals their spirit energy," Mendalo said. "I should have guessed. It's all so fitting for him." He looked once more at Ikkaku. "I'm heading over to the forge. I came here first, and now, I'm glad I did. At least I know what's going on." He turned to leave.

"Mendalo . . . "

"Yes?"

"I don't . . . I'm not going out to find Yumichika."

Mendalo looked at him but no words would come. At last, he shook his head sadly and left.

Hoozukimaru watched him go. He could barely contain his outrage. "You know," he began, his entire body shaking, "He deserved what you got all these years. That simple sword smith is more worthy of Ayasegawa than you are." With that, he returned to his inner world.

And Ikkaku, faced with such a stinging rebuke, made his decision.

* * *

"Captain Zaraki?"

Kenpachi Zaraki glanced up at the sound of Madarame's voice. "Yeah? What is it?" he asked, looking back down at the latest issue of the Seretei Bulletin, which featured an article about the the black demons.

It was the following day, after morning formation. The squad had broken down into elements for training, and as usual, Captain Zaraki had retreated to his office to do whatever he did while the rest of the squad was honing their skills.

Ikkaku had slipped away from the training shortly after the captain had left.

"I, uh, I wanted to talk to you."

"What about?"

Ikkaku hesitated. As much as he revered Zaraki, a part of him feared the man, as well. Zaraki could be indifferent, even cold. Or he could bluster with the best of them. Sometimes, he was downright mean – bordering on cruel. Ikkaku had long admired even such dubious traits in his captain; but he was no longer so sure how he felt.

After all, he had witnessed first-hand his captain's rather brutal dismissal of Yumichika and even felt Zaraki's uncaring attitude towards his own feelings in the matter. Perhaps he had been hoping for a softening of Zaraki's position – that would have given him an excuse to pull back on his own staid opposition to kido; but no such lessening had occurred, and Ikkaku had stubbornly maintained his own anger, even though Captain Zaraki seemed little troubled by events that were in the past. It was that apathy that finally led Ikkaku to consider that he might have a chance of getting what he was going to ask for; for if Yumichika's indiscretion were no longer an issue, then Zaraki could have no objection to Ikkaku's request other than mission requirements.

"I probably should have told you this sooner," Ikkaku began, taking a long, deep breath. "When Yumichika left, he didn't take his zanpakuto with him."

Zaraki raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"He left it behind in his room, and I've—I've been keeping it all this time," Ikkaku went on.

"Keeping it? Why?" Zaraki asked. "It's no good to anyone but Ayasegawa – and even then, not so good for him either. You should just throw it into the sea or something."

"I can't do that—"

"Then give it to me. I'll do it."

"No, Captain," Ikkaku steeled himself. "As much as I hate the damned thing, and as angry as I still am at Yumichika, I can't destroy his zanpakuto or hide it or . . . lose it. It belongs with him."

"You're nuts," Zaraki said carelessly. "But I'm not surprised. You need an excuse to see him again, and this is it."

"That's not true, Captain!" Ikkaku protested. "I really think Ruri'iro Kujaku should be with Yumichika. And he might—he might be able to find something out about the enemy, since Ruri'iro Kujaku has the same ability—"

"You're thinking of bringing him back here?" Zaraki asked.

"No, I—I just want to take his zanpakuto to him. What he does after that is his own business."

Zaraki shrugged. "I take it you already know where to find him?"

Ikkaku shook his head. "No. I have a few ideas where he might be, but I'm not sure."

"So, you'll have to search for him."

"Yes, Captain."

Zaraki leaned back. "How long are we talking about?"

"Using shunpo, it'll be quick," Ikkaku replied. "A week. Maybe two."

"Fine," Zaraki approved. "Go now. The sooner, the better. The demons are increasing their activity even more, and I don't need you to be distracted worrying about Ayasegawa."

"Yes, Captain."

As Ikkaku turned to leave, Zaraki spoke again.

"Madarame."

"Yes, Sir?"

"Don't bring him back here. Nothing's changed. He's still not welcome in this squad."

Ikkaku frowned, disappointed that his captain felt it necessary to say such a thing. Surely, Zaraki did not expect Ikkaku to cave in to any feelings of guilt or affection.

"I wasn't going to," he replied curtly, then turned on his heel and left.

* * *

"Mendalo. Good. You're the first to arrive."

"It's good to see you again, Heykibi. I just wish it was under other circumstances," Mendalo returned the greeting.

"Eh, circumstances are what they are," Heykibi, the head sword smith, replied. "We all have to make the best of a bad situation."

"That's one way of looking at it," Mendalo replied, reaching into his work bag and pulling out a leather apron. "I see the furnaces are at full fire. You've been working 'round the clock?"

"At the rate zanpakuto are being destroyed, it's become necessary."

"Are you here alone? Where's Hennie and Schtromfin?" Mendalo asked, referring to the Gotei 13's two other full-time sword smiths.

"We're pulling eight-hour shifts," Heykibi replied. "More or less. I try to be here as much as possible. But a man's got to rest from time to time."

Mendalo nodded his agreement. "Where do you want me?"

"On the pot," Heykibi instructed. "I don't know why, but this mixture is turning out too brittle. I think it's because I didn't stir it long enough before pouring. Kinda hard to keep up when you're running the show single-handedly."

Mendalo took up his place and began stirring. "So, what do they know about this enemy?"

"Not a whole lot," came the reply. He then went on to relay what he had heard in various conversations. "They even had the gall to ask me if I could make zanpakuto where it would be harder to steal their spirit energy." He shook his head with a disdainful grin. "Those people in charge know nothing about what it takes to make zanpakuto. Nothing."

"I heard Fifth Seat Ayasegawa's zanpakuto is the only way they've found to destroy the creatures for good," Mendalo put forth.

Heykibi nodded, but he had a puzzled expression on his face, as if he could not really believe it were true. "That's what I heard. Who'd have thought it?" He paused and a distant look came into his eye. "All that time he kept his power hidden. You know, it's not a power that comes along very often." He shook his head, and something very close to a scowl came into his features. "I should have guessed it, though." A pause. "I could never produce a power like that in the Asauchi. Why do all the greatest zanpakuto arise from their Shinigami's soul?"

"Come on, Heykibi, you know we're just sword smiths. We can't impart any powers into our swords. All we can do is plant the seed of spirit energy. If it's matched with the right Soul Reaper, it will produce a great power," Mendalo said with a grin.

"I know that," Heykibi replied. "Don't forget, I've been making zanpakuto since before you could even lift a mallet."

Mendalo chuckled. "Okay, okay. I didn't mean to insult you. I keep forgetting: you've gotten more ornery over the years," he poked playfully.

Heykibi shook his head. "Just keep stirring." After several seconds, he spoke again. "You were good friends with Ayasegawa. You didn't know his zanpakuto was kido?"

"I suspected, but I wasn't sure," Mendalo replied.

"Why didn't he use its full release?" Heykibi asked. "Was it because of Squad Eleven?"

"I think that was only part of it." Mendalo continued stirring. "He knew Madarame hated all things kido, and he didn't want to lose him."

Heykibi accepted this answer with a single nod. "Do you think he'd be willing to use it now, his secret being out?"

"It's kind of a moot point, since he's not here anymore," Mendalo replied.

"But you know him . . . do you think he would use it?"

Mendalo frowned. "To save his own life, no. To save Madarame . . . yes."

* * *

Was it really so cold?

Or was it just him?

The winter months had always been mild in Mito due to the warm winds coming off the Ulandsee. There were always a lot of rainy, gray days that sometimes started with a morning frost that thawed in the dim light of sunrise. Snow was rare, but did fall on the odd occasion.

High winds buffeted the coast, including the hutch Yumichika now called home. Cold air hissed through the gaps in the wooden walls. Rough water lapped about the posts and sometimes sent spray up through the hole in the floor.

Maybe it was no colder than usual. It was just the first winter Yumichika had spent in such meager surroundings. He sat on the straw mat in the corner, worn blankets pulled close around his body, the lantern swaying overhead. Kaekae had procured a small brazier which emitted some little heat, but it was not enough to spate the shivers that rattled through Yumichika's body.

Beside the mat was half a loaf of bread and a bowl of rice; and although Yumichika's body told him he was hungry, he had no appetite. His insides were too knotted.

The weather outside – the wind and the rain – would keep most everyone indoors. Most everyone. Yumichika knew there were those whose addictions were so powerful that even the weather posed no obstacle.

He expected one or another of them to show up any minute now. He could see, in his mind's eye, the clumsy passage of footfalls along the sunken walkway, made all the more precarious by the wind and the swells.

He heard someone on the ladder, then outside the door.

A knock was followed by Kaekae's voice. "Ayasegawa-san?"

Relief drove the breath out of Yumichika in one long sigh. "Come in, Kaekae."

Kaekae entered, the wind nearly blowing him inside the door. He took off his overcoat and sat down next to the brazier, looking at Yumichika across the low light.

"I wanted ta come check on ya, what wi' the storm," he said.

Yumichika smiled faintly. "That's kind of you."

Kaekae was direct. "Ya not well, Ayasegawa-san."

The smile was still there. "Don't worry about me. I'm okay."

"No, ya not," Kaekae protested. "Ya look worn out. Ya ne'er looked like this a'fore."

"I guess I'm a little tired—"

"I know wa's goin' on," Kaekae interjected. "I see 'em coming and going. It's not right, Ayasegawa-san. Ya didna come back 'ere for that. That's the reason ya left." He paused. "I could ferry ya cross the sea. It would be betta over there, wouldn't it?"

"I'm fine right here, Kaekae," Yumichika insisted. "I know you're trying to protect me, but really, it's okay."

Kaekae stared at him with narrowed eyes. "Wha' happened to ya, Ayasegawa-san? Ya very much changed." He paused. "Did somethin' happen to Madarame?" he ventured cautiously.

Yumichika did not mind the question. For all the assistance he had offered, Kaekae had the right to ask, and it was the first time he'd made any such inquiry over the past eight months.

"No, Ikkaku was fine when I left."

"Then why'd ya leave? Ya were close to 'im. I canna understand why ya'd come 'ere wi'out him," Kaekae persisted.

Yumichika hesitated, then at last said, "Ikkaku and I aren't friends anymore."

Kaekae was visibly stunned. At last, he managed to find his voice and stammered, "Tha's impossible."

"It's true."

"But how? How could that a' happened? Did he do somethin' to ya?"

Yumichika looked down. "No. I did something to him." A pause. "I kept something hidden from him, and when he found out, he was angry and didn't want anything more to do with me."

Kaekae looked baffled. "What did ya hide from 'im?"

"It doesn't matter, and it'd be too hard to explain." He sounded dejected and sad.

Kaekae was a humble man and not one to pry. He respected Yumichika's silence, only replying with, "I canna believe anythin' could be bad 'nough that he'd turn ya away."

It was ironic. Ikkaku had often chastised Yumichika for not recognizing his own value and worth; and yet it was Ikkaku who had then rejected him for that which was intrinsic to his soul: his zanpakuto and its kido nature. The bitterness sat like a rock in the pit of Yumichika's stomach. His hatred for Ruri'iro Kujaku had only increased since leaving the Seireitei, to the point where he could almost fool himself into believing that Ruri'iro Kujaku had made him what he was, as opposed to the truth, which was that Ruri'iro Kujaku sprang from his own soul.

As Yumichika saw him, Ruri'iro Kujaku was the manifestation of erotic beauty, the attention-hungry seducer that had somehow overtaken Yumichika's life. The master of deception and empty flattery. The selfish peacock who had not been willing to share his master with anyone.

Master? The idea made Yumichika grimace. He was no more Ruri'iro Kujaku's master than Ruri'iro Kujaku was his servant. And his zanpakuto had done everything he could to come between him and Ikkaku. He had reduced Yumichika to his current situation.

Yumichika clenched his jaw against raw emotions.

"I don't blame Ikkaku," he said in a near-whisper. "I blame myself."

Kaekae spoke in a tepid voice. "Is that why ya came 'ere? To punish yaself?"

"I don't know why I chose this place," Yumichika replied.

"Lemme take ya cross the sea," Kaekae pleaded. "Look at ya. Ya sick. Ya unhappy. This place canna be makin' thin's any better."

"Kaekae—"

Before he could go on, there came the sound of footsteps outside the door. There was no knock this time. No inquiry.

Hinsamoi entered, regarded Kaekae with derision, then spoke with quiet authority. "Boatman, leave. Ayasegawa-san and I have business to conduct."

Kaekae got to his feet, gave one final imploring look at Yumichika, then said, "If ya change ya mind, tell me."

After Kaekae had left, Hinsamoi waited a few seconds before turning his gaze on Yumichika, who was not making eye contact or moving from his place on the floor.

"Change your mind about what?" he asked.

"Nothing," he said without looking up.

"Tell the truth, Yumichika. What was he talking about?" Hinsamoi insisted.

"He's worried about me and offered to let me stay with him." It was partly true. "I declined."

"A wise decision," Hinsamoi sniffed. "Why get that old oarsman more involved than he needs to be."

"He cares about me," Yumichika replied.

"He's not the only one," Hinsamoi said, going down on one knee and reaching out to run his fingertips over Yumichika's face. "I care, too. I worry about you. Look at you. You're wasting away. You're neglecting your appearance. You take no pleasure in anything. I don't understand why."

Yumichika raised his eyes to look at the man with uncharacteristic venom. "How can you say that?" There was the slightest hint of petulance in his voice. "Your concern isn't for me. It's for what you can get from me."

"That's because the things I can get from you . . . are better than I get can from anyone else." He reached out and slid the blankets from around Yumichika's shoulders. "And it's been . . . two or three months since I discovered you were here, and you haven't run away. You've chosen to stay and . . . allow things to go back to the way they used to be." He smiled as he eased Yumichika down onto his back. "I have to admit, I'm surprised . . . but very . . . very . . . pleased." He ran his mouth over Yumichika's neck and reached his hands beneath the worn kimono.

The feel of Hinsamoi's hands on his body was something Yumichika had never forgotten, and in the past few months, all the horrible memories had returned. And yet, Yumichika had grown numb to every occurrence, indifferent to the fact that he had been reduced to simple entertainment for any and all takers.

They were the same takers as before. And they took often. That Yumichika had grown grotesquely thin and visibly ill did nothing to lessen their lusts. His tarnished beauty was still astounding enough to bring them back time and again.

But Yumichika knew the real reason they came day after day, night after night.

They could never be satisfied with their revenge. They must visit it upon him for eternity, and even that would never sate their hunger.

Yumichika remained limp as Hinsamoi's hand moved to his privates and began massaging and kneading. As the touch got rougher and more violent, Yumichika stared at the shadows on the wall. He made no move as Hinsamoi parted the kimono, removing the last flimsy barrier to the body he coveted.

If he were lucky, it would be over quickly with only minimal damage.

"You know, Yumichika-san, you never try to stop me," Hinsamoi noted, using Yumichika's obi to bind his wrists. You never even resist. I don't understand that. You could kill me, but instead you just go along and don't say a word or give any kind of reaction. You must enjoy it or hate it. You can't be so . . . indifferent."

When Yumichika didn't reply, Hinsamoi drew the bonds tighter. "You know what I think? You want to be treated this way. It's why you came back, isn't it? A part of you has always been attracted to this way of life. You need it. I'm right, aren't I?"

Yumichika had no intention of answering, but the question turned in his mind.

Why _had_ he come back here? Surely, he had known all along that they would eventually discover his presence. And when they had begun revisiting the pain and humiliation of years past upon him, he'd not fled.

He had not come searching for abuse and debasement. Had he?

Somehow . . . it felt like justice.

Justice.

Wasn't this the justice his actions had merited? Maybe Kaekae was right. Maybe this was why he had come back to Mito village, to this very hutch.

Maybe this was why he had given over his body again for the amusement of others for the past two months. Maybe he had come back . . . to atone for his sins.

* * *

Mendalo cursed under his breath.

Another cracked mold. In the two weeks since he'd arrived, this was the third mold that was headed the way of the trash heap. It seemed that twenty-four hour operations were wreaking havoc on old equipment.

It was almost two o'clock in the morning, Mendalo having been assigned the night shift. At the moment, he was alone, although Heykibi stopped in frequently to make sure things were running smoothly.

But, of course, they were not running smoothly. Failing equipment, overworked smithies, and no matter how many zanpakuto they produced, there seemed to be a never-ending shortage.

Still, Mendalo considered that the brutal schedule was probably doing him a good turn and keeping him occupied enough that he was not fixing every waking thought on Yumichika.

Madarame had been gone twelve days. He'd left the day after Mendalo's arrival, despite his insistence that he was not going to search for Yumichika. Mendalo had inquired of Captain Zaraki who had told him that Ikkaku had two weeks to find Yumichika and return his zanpakuto to him.

Those two weeks were almost over.

Mendalo knew Ikkaku was reliable, and so he expected him to return in a timely manner. He was curious as to what news he would bring. Had he found Yumichika? Was there a possibility that Yumichika might return with him?

He was convinced the next two days would drag on forever.

He went over to where a stack of molds were leaned up against the wall and began to look through the heavy iron plates. There must have been at least a dozen plates – and they were all damaged and unusable.

"Damn," he groaned in frustration. He opened the door into the cellar and flipped the light switch, but the cellar remained in darkness. "Great. This is great." He grabbed a torch and lit it in the smelt oven, then headed down.

The coolness of the cellar felt good after the sweltering heat of the forge. Mendalo was tempted to lie down direct on the dirt floor and take a rest; but there was no chance of that. There was simply too much to do.

In the far corner were the molds, dozens of them, propped up against the stone wall. He set the torch in one of the wall sconces and went over to the molds. He found two trays relatively quickly, both in good condition and started back towards the steps. He had the two trays under one arm and retrieved the torch with the other.

It was not the best arrangement, and as he started up the stairs, he discovered that the two plates, each weighing at least one hundred pounds, really needed one arm each. One plate began to slip, followed by the other. They went pounding back down the steps, colliding at the bottom with the corner of a wooden sword rack, knocking it over and setting off a chain reaction loud enough to wake the dead and bringing down half of the cellar's contents.

"Ehhhh, shit."

This night couldn't get any worse. He was already too unfocused to pay attention to what he was doing; and now he had caused a mess. And not the kind of mess that could be cleaned up easily. This was going to take some manpower. Heykibi was not going to be happy with him.

He went back down the steps to retrieve the trays, intending this time to bring them up one by one. As he came to the bottom of the steps, he felt a breeze strong enough that it made the torch flicker. He took several steps to his left, in the direction of the slight wind. In the torchlight, he saw a gaping opening in the stone wall, and his first thought was that he had broken down part of the wall.

"Oh, no, no . . . my god, I'm going to end up bringing this whole place down," he groused in frustration. "At least it doesn't look like a load-bearing wall." He moved closer for a better look, and as he saw the situation more clearly, he felt a small sense of relief wash over him. The wall wasn't broken down at all. It was a doorway that had previously been obscured behind piles of all sorts of junk. Now that junk had, as it had fallen, busted open the door.

Mendalo glanced inside. As the torchlight fell on the interior, glints of light shone through the darkness.

"What is that?" he asked under his breath. He picked his way over the mess on the floor and passed through the doorway. He found himself in a room, the dimensions of which could not be fathomed in the torchlight. But what was clearly visible were the rows and rows of wooden shelves, piled high with zanpakuto.

"What are all these doing here?" he asked out loud, taking in his surroundings. He reached out and took hold of one of the swords. It had a thin layer of dust on it. He checked another, then another. As he moved deeper into the room, which he noticed was hewn from the rock, he examined more and more of the weapons. To his shock, he found a number of weapons with his symbol on them.

"There must be thousands of them . . . tens of thousands," Mendalo noted in wonder. "And I never sensed any of their reiatsu . . . this must be seki-seki rock."

At length, he came to an ascending spiral staircase, first in rock then in wood. At the top of the steps was another door. He turned the knob, surprised to find it unlocked. Opening the door, he emerged into . . . an apartment. An apartment he knew very well. It was the tiny apartment above the back part of the forge, belonging to Heykibi.

Mendalo felt uncomfortable, as if he were trespassing, so he quickly closed the door and started back down the steps. As he reached the juncture where the wood turned back into stone, he heard Heykibi calling out to him.

"I'm down here!" Mendalo shouted back, continuing his way down. At the bottom of the steps, he saw Heykibi entering the room, holding his own torch.

"What the hell happened down here?" Heykibi asked. "It looks like an earthquake hit."

Mendalo felt his face flush. "I, uh, had a little accident and sort of . . . well . . . sorry. I'll clean it up."

"How did you—it looks like you knocked everything over," Heykibi stated.

"I was trying to carry the mold trays up, and I had too much in my hands, and they . . . got away from me," Mendalo replied. "I'm sorry, Heykibi. I swear, I _will_ clean it up. I guess I was just in a hurry and not paying attention . . . "

Heykibi nodded. "Don't worry about it. I'm just glad you weren't hurt." He began walking back towards the opening. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"What is this room?" Mendalo asked. "What are all these zanpakuto?"

"You weren't supposed to see this," Heykibi replied. "That's why I've kept this cellar door blocked for centuries. Leave it to you to bust the whole thing down."

"But what is it?"

"My stockpile," Heykibi answered, stepping back into the cellar. "I've been putting some away every year for over three hundred years."

"But why?" Mendalo asked.

"As a safeguard, I guess," Heykibi replied. "Against the sort of situation we're facing now."

"But then . . . then this is great news," Mendalo said, as a smile began to form on his face. "We can use these zanpakuto—"

"No, no, that's not possible," Heykibi cut him off. "It isn't the time for them."

Mendalo was stunned. "But you said you'd been stockpiling them for situations like the one we're in now. We're—we're breaking our backs to make more and more zanpakuto, and here we have a store of . . . tens of thousands, at least. And if ever they were needed, it's now."

"Come on, firebrand," Heykibi said with an indulgent one-sided grin. "Don't start getting any ideas. In fact, I'd better get you out of here before you start breaking more things."

"Heykibi!" Mendalo stepped back from his outstretched arm. "The Gotei 13 could really use these weapons!"

Heykibi turned and faced him in the flickering torchlight. "Do you think this is the worst threat Soul Society has ever faced? Or _will_ ever face? Even Aizen posed a greater threat than the black demons," the master smith replied. "These creatures have to become much more powerful before they can mount any kind of serious attack."

"Serious attack? Heykibi, have you seen—have you seen the aftermath of what these things can do? They're consuming spirit energy from every soul they encounter, and leaving entire villages empty. And the only Soul Reaper who can permanently destroy them is—"

"Yes, yes, Mendalo, I know all this," Heykibi sighed, adding with mild chastisement, "But none of that is a reason to deplete an entire arsenal. Besides, it's like you said: the only Soul Reaper who can defeat them has a zanpakuto that sucks the reiatsu right out of its victims. I have to admit, that's a formidable power. None of these zanpakuto can do that, so what good will they be against this enemy?"

"We don't know what these zanpakuto will be capable of once they're in the hands of their masters—"

"That's enough," Heykibi said, holding up his hand. "We're wasting time talking about it. It's not the time for these zanpakuto—"

"But who are you to make that call?!" Mendalo was desperate now.

"I'm the man who forged them!" Heykibi shouted, losing his calm for a brief moment.

Mendalo, stunned, hesitated before speaking. "Not all of them. I saw some of my own in there."

Heykibi put his hand on Mendalo's shoulder in a patronly manner. "Mendalo, you're a good man. You've always been a good man, and one of the best smithies I've ever known. I'm asking you, as a personal favor to me . . . please keep this a secret. Trust me. I know what I'm doing. I've been making zanpakuto since before Yamamoto became head captain. The threat from these creatures isn't great enough to warrant handing over all these zanpakuto." He led him by the elbow back up into the forge. "If the workload is getting too stressful for you, maybe we could free up . . . a couple hundred swords, and that would remove some of the burden."

"A couple hundred?"

"I know you're feeling the strain, and the other smithies haven't arrived yet," Heykibi went on. "Not to mention, I'm sure you're worried about Ayasegawa. Maybe . . . maybe you should think about going to search for him."

Mendalo looked at him in disbelief. "Madarame is already out looking for him," he said, immediately returning to the more important issue. "If you're not going to use those zanpakuto, you're going to need me here—"

"Maybe once the other smithies arrive, we'll be well-manned enough that you can go take care of the only thing that's really on your mind," Heykibi offered. "But in the meantime, you'd better go back to your room and get some sleep. You've already had one sloppy episode tonight. Another one could end up getting you killed. You know very well that sword smiths can't afford to make mistakes – this whole place could go up in flames."

"Heykibi—"

"You'll keep this to yourself, won't you?"

Mendalo looked at him for a long time, finally replying, "I don't think I can."

A look of sad resignation drew deep furrows around Heykibi's eyes. "Sleep on it, at least." The master sword smith had maneuvered Mendalo to the threshold, where the latter stood unmoving and incredulous for several seconds before turning and departing into the darkness.

Whether Mendalo was going to "sleep on it" or report to the leadership, Heykibi could only guess. But guesses were not worth taking risks. If Mendalo reported what he had seen, it would not be long before he returned with a contingent of the leadership.

But Heykibi didn't need much time. He'd become a master at more than making swords. Still, he had no time to lose. He would take care of business here and then be free of all constraints.

The only obstacle that then remained was, at least for the moment, out of the picture – somewhere out in Soul Society, who knew where.

Even if Madarame found Ayasegawa, the chances of the former fifth seat returning to the fight were negligible.

Heykibi felt an ironic sense of justice. It seemed love's greatest power was its ability to destroy its object.

* * *

Mendalo had started off heading for the Squad Thirteen headquarters. Of all the captains, Mendalo had always considered Juushiro Ukitake to be the most level-headed, and sensible. And that's what he needed right now.

But as he rushed headlong through the empty streets, a tweaking sense of guilt began to pinch his insides.

Heykibi had been a mentor, almost a hero to him, for longer than he could recall. He owed his skill as a sword smith to the man; and therefore, his livelihood. His position as an itinerant sword smith to the Gotei 13 was due solely to Heykibi's patronage.

And now, he was going to go tattle on the man in whose footsteps he had followed since the day of their first meeting?

Heykibi's explanation about the zanpakuto had made no sense to him. What greater threat could the master smithy be conjuring other than the one they were facing now? To hoard such a mass of weapons, each imbued with undeveloped spirit energy, when Soul Society was facing a massacre of every last inhabitant . . .

Was the threat really not as grave as it seemed? Was Heykibi right and the current enemy nowhere near the threat of previous enemies?

He was torn. Reporting Heykibi could result in getting the man in trouble. It would definitely sour their relationship. And Mendalo didn't even know if using those zanpakuto would make a difference.

"Damn!" he cursed, stopping to pound his fist against the wall of the alleyway through which he had been running. "Why wouldn't he want to free up enough to at least keep up with the demand?"

"Everything alright, Mendalo-san?"

Mendalo looked up to see Iba Tetsuzaemon looking at him through his dark-lensed glasses.

"Iba," Mendalo sighed.

"You okay?"

"I'm just—I'm coming from the forge," Mendalo replied.

"You look exhausted," Iba observed. "Is everything alright?"

Mendalo caught his breath. "I'm not sure," he said, then he had an idea. "Iba, I need you to do me a favor."

"What is it? I'm on duty, so don't ask me to go drinking with you," Iba quipped, trying to inject a bit of lightness into Mendalo's troubled manner.

But Mendalo could not indulge the humor. "Go tell Captain Ukitake—no, no, go tell your captain, Captain Komamura, to meet me at the forge in . . . in ten—no, twenty minutes. I need some time first—"

"Time for what?" Iba asked.

"I think I may have found a way to help with combating the demons – or at least to mitigate our losses a bit," Mendalo replied. "But I need to talk to Heykibi first."

"What have you found?"

"There's no time to explain, Iba," Mendalo replied. "Please, just . . . bring Captain Komamura, but give me twenty minutes first."

"You've got however long it takes for my captain to get there. He doesn't wait," Iba replied. He looked over the top of his glasses. "Why are you so nervous?"

Mendalo shook his head, surprised to hear his reply. "Because I don't know what I'm doing."

With that, he turned and headed back towards the forge.

* * *

Heykibi heard the door open up above him.

They had come even sooner than he'd expected. But no matter. His preparations were almost ready.

"Heykibi?!"

Mendalo's voice.

He could hear no other voices. In fact, he could hear only the movements of one person.

"Down here!" he shouted.

In the next moment, a wavering, bouncing shadow preceded Mendalo's appearance behind the torch that cast the light coming down the steps.

"I'm in here."

Mendalo followed Heykibi's voice into the secret room.

"You came alone? Does that mean you changed your mind?" Heykibi asked. He was twisting what looked like a piece of twine between his fingers.

"I don't want to be the one to tell about his," Mendalo replied. "I want you to do it, Heykibi-dono—"

"Oh, dono, now, am I?" He smiled with a strange combination of affection and scoffing. "Dono, dono, dono. You haven't called me that in a long time. A very long time." He began walking back into the depths of room, which, as the light gave more definition to its dimensions, revealed itself to be more of a cave than a room – its ceiling reaching up beyond the light's ability to illumine. And piled high, out of sight along with the upper reaches, more zanpakuto.

Mendalo followed him slowly, noticing more small pieces of twine running along the ground, under the shelves and climbing up the racks. They were all connected to a single strand lying on the left side of the walkway, tucked close beside the shelving units.

"Don't trip," Heykibi cautioned. "It's like an obstacle course in here."

"What—what are you doing?"

Heykibi continued walking deeper into the cavern. "I'm rigging explosives," he answered matter-of-factly.

Mendalo stopped. "Explosives?"

"I wasn't sure if you were going to tell the head captain or not, so I had to take every precaution," Heykibi continued. "Most of these were already in place. They've been there for years. I hope they still work. Now, I just have to make sure all the connections are there."

"But—but why? Why do you want to destroy them?!" Mendalo burst out.

Heykibi turned and faced him, and his expression, his demeanor, his voice . . . everything was placid, even gentle. "They won't be destroyed," he replied. "I could never destroy them."

"What do you think an explosion will do to them?!"

"Free them. Transform them," Heykibi replied, returning to his twine.

"That's—that's crazy! Heykibi, stop—" As Mendalo took an aggressive step forward, he saw Heykibi sweep out his right arm, and without any incantation, the master sword smith sent forth a string of blue-white energy, binding his arms and legs.

Mendalo fell face-first to the ground, where he immediately began a useless struggle.

"Heykibi, what—what are you doing? Let me go!"

Heykibi continued his work, speaking quietly, as if in afterthought.

"Mendalo, I've always liked you," he noted. "I've looked upon you as if you were my own son. Well, almost. I took you under my wing . . . and apprenticing you was one of the happiest periods of my life. I taught you everything I know—eh, no, not everything." He smiled to himself. "Obviously, not everything." A pause. "Mendalo . . . for all the zanpakuto you've made, how many have you been able to wield?"

Mendalo was baffled. "What do you mean?"

"You carry a sword, but is it a zanpakuto?" Heykibi asked.

"Wh—no, no, of course not," Mendalo answered. He ceased fighting, as that only made the bonds grow tighter. "Zanpakuto are for Shinigami. I'm not a Shinigami."

"Did you ever want to be one?"

"I . . . I . . . no," he said in a near-whisper, fearful of the peculiar tenor manifesting in Heykibi's voice, a sort of whimsical, dreamy tone.

"You've never wanted the power? The prestige? The benefits that come with being a Shinigami?" Heykibi pressed.

Mendalo swallowed. "I'm happy as a sword smith. I—I don't want anything else."

"You're satisfied with your life?"

"Yes."

Heykibi chuckled as he joined two sets of twine. He took a moment to hunker down beside his former apprentice.

"Now, you know I don't believe that," the master sword smith grinned. "Oh, yes, you have the skill to be a brilliant sword smith, better than me, probably. No, no, that could never happen. You don't have the drive. But look at you: you have the looks. You have the body." Another laugh. "Everyone knows you have the . . . stamina. And you had the most beautiful creature in all of Soul Society at your beck and call. And yet I know . . . " He leaned close. "It's not enough. It's never enough. No man is ever satisfied with what he has."

"Heykibi . . . "

"I always dreamed of being a Shinigami," Heykibi went on. "I even applied for the Soul Reaper Academy. You didn't know that, did you? I was always too embarrassed to tell you. Huh, I didn't even get accepted. Not enough spirit energy. Yes, yes, it's true. I didn't have enough spirit energy to even pass the entrance exam. I knew enough to infuse a piece of metal with spirit energy that didn't even belong to me; but I possessed not enough of my own. Isn't that ironic? You know, manipulating spirit energy is strictly a kido function. You knew that, didn't you? Every time you say an incantation to imbue a sword with spirit energy, you're using kido." He sounded proud, yet there was something false in it. "Making zanpakuto is the work of kido masters."

"I—I'm not a master of kido—"

"You are, but you don't realize it," Heykibi cut him off. He placed a tender, calloused palm against his cheek. "Did you only think you were a master of sexual conquest?"

Mendalo squirmed beneath his gaze and his touch.

"Don't be uncomfortable," Heykibi said. "You were never ashamed of the things you did. Why start now?" He sat down and was thoughtful and silent for a moment. "I devoted my life to making zanpakuto, but I was never able to wield one. I watched as every beautiful blade I created and gave life to was handed over to someone else. Every one of those weapons had the chance to be something great. But in the hands of a weak or incompetent Shinigami, so many of them went to their demise without ever having reached their full potential. Such a waste . . . " His voice grew suddenly violent, and he pounded his fist on the ground. "Such a waste!" He rocked onto his knees, rolled Mendalo onto his back and leaned to within inches of his face. "All those fresh, nascent spirits, their reiatsu . . . waiting to be cherished and brought into greatness. They deserved it, didn't they? Didn't they?! Why should some zanpakuto become powerful and renowned?! Why should some get the benefits of good masters and others languish? Why should a zanpakuto created on an anvil be endowed with less power than one that springs directly from the soul?!" He brought his fist thundering down next to Mendalo's head. "Where is the fairness in that?! They should all have an equal chance at greatness!"

Mendalo stared at him, unable to comprehend the madman who had taken the place of his once-teacher. At last, he said in a shaky voice, "They do all have an equal chance. They—they choose their masters as much as their masters choose them. And not all of them are equally capable—"

The back of Heykibi's hand cracked across his face. "Don't say that! Don't you dare say that!" He struck him again. "Would you say that _I_ am not capable?! Would you say that I have no right to be a Shinigami?!"

Mendalo could taste the blood in his mouth. "N-no one has a right to be a Shinigami," he spluttered. "It has to b-be earned."

"Eh, that's what I would expect you to say," Heykibi spat. "Just like all these zanpakuto have to earn their place in a Shinigami's hand? Well, fuck that!" He leapt to his feet and snatched a sword from the nearest shelf. "What I can give them comes for free!" he raved. "And they are only too happy to receive it!"

Mendalo shook his head. "What—what . . . "

"What, indeed," Heykibi scowled. He looked at the sword in his hand. "What do you know, this is one of yours." He placed the tip against Mendalo's cheek and flicked his wrist, scoring the skin and drawing blood.

Other than a brief grunt of surprise, Mendalo did not make a sound.

"The spirit energy in this sword . . . in all of them . . . it's so . . . green, so fresh," Heykibi mused. "You'd think that equates to innocence, but it doesn't. No, no, no, it doesn't. It only means that the spirit energy is pure. And easily manipulated." He placed the tip against the other cheek. "Do you know how to manipulate spirit energy, Mendalo?" When no answer was forthcoming, he flicked his wrist again, inflicting the same wound on the other cheek. "You see, that was me manipulating the sword. That was all mechanical." His voice grew low. "Do you want to see what happens when I manipulate the spirit energy?"

Mendalo looked at him in horror. "No . . . no, I don't. Heykibi, let me go . . . for god's sake, what's gotten into you?"

"What's gotten into me? Isn't that an interesting question," Heykibi pondered. "You were going to tell them about my little stockpile, even though these swords were never meant to be in the hands of Shinigami—"

"Then what were they meant for?!"

Heykibi stood up and held out his right hand, palm up. He stared with concentration into his palm, and slowly a black thin, filmy wisp appeared.

"This. This is what they were meant for."

Mendalo felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him, along with any hope. "No . . . no, it's not possible. It couldn't have been . . . it was you all along."

"It was me all along," Heykibi conceded, sounding pleased with himself. "I blew up the forge all those decades ago. I collected the reiatsu—not only of those zanpakuto, but of any zanpakuto where I could get there in time. Whatever spirit energy still lingered, I collected it. And I didn't just collect zanpakuto spirit energy, either. I collected Shinigami spirit energy. Regular soul's spirit energy." He lowered his hand and the wisp of cloud elongated and grew thinner, hovering above where Mendalo lay on the ground. "It is amazing how . . . hateful free-floating reiatsu can be when it's not permitted to fully dissipate, when it's gathered into a whole with other reiatsu that never got to climb the heights of excellence—"

"Reiatsu doesn't have emotions—" Mendalo began in a desperate voice.

"So you say!" Heykibi laughed. "So you say! Oh, but it does. It does! When reiatsu is given physical being, it possesses all the same qualities as any human soul would possess."

"Heykibi . . . why . . . why are you doing this?"

The master sword smith was silent for a long time, and Mendalo began to fear he would not answer. But at last, he spoke.

"Soul Society is unfair. You say you're happy with who you are and what you have. I know you're lying. There are things each of us wants that we don't have, that we'll never have. And why shouldn't we have them? If it means one has a little less so that another can have a little more, then why should I feel any guilt about tearing down Soul Society and rebuilding it into something more just? The spirit energy of disaffected souls, whether they be human or zanpakuto, is the perfect means by which to push the needed changes. Harnessing the spirit energy of others is a power that should never be underestimated." Heykibi glanced down at him with lurid expression. "I'm sure your friend and his zanpakuto knew that only too well. His problem was he was afraid to use it." A pause. "I could use it now on you. But . . . but I care for you too much to watch you wither away." Seeing the faintest shadow of hope on his captive's face, he smiled and leaned over him. "Oh, no, no, I didn't mean that I intend to set you free. I just don't want to watch you suffer. You see, when this place blows, all the reiatsu from these zanpakuto will be freed, and I will be here to collect it. And you'll be blown to bits. That's much quicker and less distressing than succumbing to the demons." He raised the sword with both hands and drove it down through Mendalo's left shoulder, pinioning him to the ground, bringing forth a cry of shock and pain. He took another sword from the stacks and drove this one through his pelvis. The bakudo still held him bound. "So you won't go anywhere after I leave." He dropped to one knee, but he felt no sadness as he beheld the stricken face of the man he had mentored. Instead, he held out his finger and emitted one more single strand of energy as a gag. "I know you don't have much spirit energy, but I promise you that what little you do have . . . I will absorb along with the rest. And after I've found Ayasegawa, I'll take his spirit energy, too." A mocking grin. "You'll be reunited."

He drew the black cloud back into his hand, where it withdrew to a pinpoint and vanished.

"You just lie still now. Be brave for a few minutes more. It won't be long."

He departed the cavern.

* * *

Ikkaku looked down at the mist-shrouded village with loathing. More than that – he felt physically ill. He despised the place in so many ways that he had put it last on his list of possibilities where he might find Yumichika. He had truly hoped to avoid ever seeing the village again, even more, stepping foot in it.

But over the past two weeks, his searches to other more likely locations had proven fruitless, and so here he was. He held out little hope of finding Yumichika here. The memories associated with Mito Village were too horrific. Yumichika would not be so masochistic as to expose himself to that kind of suffering again, even if only in memories.

He didn't feel Yumichika's reiatsu, but that didn't signify. It could mean that Yumichika was suppressing his reiatsu – something he excelled at – or that his reiatsu had grown too weak to detect. Still, the most likely answer was that Yumichika wasn't there, but Ikkaku had to make sure.

And he knew of only one person who could help him.

A sloppy shunpo took him down to the shore of the Ulandsee, where the late morning light fell diffused through the mist and rain. The hutch at the water's edge had the sides drawn down, but a light crept out through the windows. Ikkaku went to the door and knocked.

A moment later, a familiar face appeared as the door opened.

"Hello, Kaekae."

The old man's face brightened, seeming to dispel some of the gloom from the air.

"Madarame-san!" he cried. "You've come! I knew you would! I knew it!" He clasped the Soul Reaper with both wrinkled hands.

"You knew I'd come?" Ikkaku asked as Kaekae ushered him inside.

"Of course," Kaekae replied. "When Ayasegawa-san showed up, I knew you would come eventually."

"So, Yumichika _is _here?"

Kaekae nodded. "Yes. I've been looking after him a bit – as much as he'll let me. You know how stubborn he can be."

"Where is he, Kaekae?"

The old man hesitated, noticing Ikkaku's restrained manner. "Before I tell you . . . you're here to help him, aren't you?"

Ikkaku frowned. "I'm not here to help or hurt him. I have something that belongs to him. I came to return it."

Kaekae's joyful exuberance quelled. "You aren't staying, then?"

"No."

"And you won't be taking him with you when you leave?"

"No."

Kaekae's face fell completely. He wanted to ask what had happened between the two of them, but he refrained. He'd not known Madarame well enough to ask such a question, but that did not mean he was simply going to let the moment pass. He had Yumichika's best interests at heart.

"He's ill, Madarame-san," he stated bluntly. "I'm afraid for him. He's not the same person."

A pained expression crossed Ikkaku's face. "I'm sorry, Kaekae. I can't help. I came here to do one thing, then I'm going back to the Seireitei – alone." He pat the boatman's shoulder. "Where is he?"

Kaekae sighed. "In the last hutch. You know the one."

And although it surprised and dismayed Ikkaku to hear of Yumichika's chosen domicile, he knew he had to do what he had come here for.

"Thank you, Kaekae. And . . . thank you for looking after him."

Kaekae deferred. "There's nothing to thank me for. I couldn't do much. You're the one he needs."

Ikkaku let that remark go and went back out into the rain. He decided to walk the fifteen minutes to the hutch. He needed the time to figure out what he was going to say, how he would control his reactions and emotions.

As he drew nearer, he began to feel the unmistakable aura of Yumichika's reiatsu that he had not been able to detect earlier. It was nowhere near its former strength, and there was a different quality to it – one Ikkaku could not quite be sure of. But it was Yumichika, no question.

The place was little changed, and it brought back with it the terrible memories of what Ikkaku had seen there so many years ago. The idea that Yumichika would come back to this village, to this exact spot, was disturbing.

Ikkaku slid the door quietly open and peered inside. He hadn't thought about what seeing Yumichika would mean to him – how he'd feel, what he'd say. And now that he was faced with the moment, he still had no idea.

To his relief, Yumichika was asleep, lying under a tattered blanket on a straw mat in the corner.

He went a few steps nearer and took a closer look.

The feathers were gone. The hair was several inches longer. The face was still dazzling, but even in sleep, there was an underlying melancholy that Ikkaku suddenly realized was the greater part of the reiatsu he had sensed. And it occurred to him then that Yumichika's reiatsu had not weakened at all – it had only changed in character. The forlorn, purposeless thing he now sensed – it was all Yumichika's. Gone completely were any vestiges of the joyful, magnanimous soul that had poured forth an equally joyful and magnanimous reiatsu.

Ikkaku considered just leaving Ruri'iro Kujaku for Yumichika to find, but he knew such an action would not suffice and only leave him feeling like a coward. He could face Yumichika. It was time he faced him.

As if on cue, in that instant, Yumichika's eyes opened slowly and almost immediately came to rest on Ikkaku. He sat up, revealing, as the blanket slid down, a thread-bare gray shift that was a far cry from the attire Ikkaku was used to seeing him in.

The look of complete shock and bewilderment on Yumichika's face almost made Ikkaku wish he had not come at all, but he set his jaw and acquired a diffident air.

"Ikkaku . . . " Yumichika said in a thin voice which made it clear that he had no idea how to react to the unexpected visit.

"This is where you're living now?" Ikkaku asked, sounding disgusted.

"Kaekae lets me stay here," Yumichika replied, pushing off the blanket and getting to his feet. "How—how did you know I'd be here?"

"I didn't," Ikkaku replied. "This is the fifth or sixth place I've looked. In fact, this is the last place I thought you'd be. What in hell made you decide to come back here?"

"I—I don't know. I just . . . did," he stammered, then in a tepid voice, "Why are you here?"

Ikkaku reached beneath his robe and drew out the scabbarded Ruri'iro Kujaku. "You left this behind when you left the Seireitei."

Yumichika stared at the weapon in something close to horror. He could not believe Ikkaku had come all this way just to return the loathed zanpakuto to him.

"I don't want it," he said bluntly.

"It's yours," Ikkaku replied, equally direct. "No one can wield it but you."

"I said I don't want it," Yumichika replied. "Do whatever you want with it."

Ikkaku took Yumichika's wrist and forced Ruri'iro Kujaku into his hand. "It's yours. Now take it."

Yumichika knew it was useless to fight him, so he wrapped his fingers around the scabbard, looked at the weapon with a hatred too deep for words, then broke from where he stood, pushed past Ikkaku, and went outside onto the deck. He drew his arm back and was about to launch Ruri'iro Kujaku into the water when Ikkaku's grip around his forearm stopped him.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Ikkaku demanded.

"I don't want it!" Yumichika replied angrily.

"Stop it!" Ikkaku demanded, pushing him back against the hut's outer wall, and slamming his arm against it hard enough to jar Ruri'iro Kujaku loose. As it clattered to the wooden planks, Ikkaku prepared to launch an invective against childishness, but he never got to it.

Instead, his eyes fell on the skin revealed by the gaping neck of Yumichika's shift. And he felt sick. It couldn't be possible . . .

Yumichika saw the direction of Ikkaku's stare, and he felt the warmth rise in his cheek. He tried to pull away, but Ikkaku held fast and with a violent burst of rage, dragged him back into the hut and thrust him against the wall. He took hold of the neck of the shift and tore it nearly in half, baring skin that was bruised and swollen.

Ikkaku had known what to expect. He'd seen it before. Yumichika's shoulders, his back, his abdomen – covered in bruises that should have healed in a couple of days. The fact they were still highly visible and in various stages of healing told Ikkaku the damage had been done over a period of days – maybe even weeks or longer – and that Yumichika was not healing as quickly as he should.

"I don't believe it . . . you've gone right back to it, haven't you?" he ground out, anger and horror mingled in his voice.

Yumichika was silent.

"How—how could you let this happen again?!" Ikkaku demanded angrily. When he received no answer, he grabbed Yumichika by the arms. "Damn it, what are you thinking?!"

Eyes averted, body nearly limp in Ikkaku's grasp, Yumichika finally answered. "I don't think of it at all."

"Damn it, Yumichika, have you forgotten what they did to you?!"

After a few seconds, Yumichika replied, "That wasn't the worst hurt I've known."

Ikkaku froze. Yumichika's words hit him like a landslide. He released him, and Yumichika retreated back to the bed where he sat in the infuriatingly delicate manner for which Ikkaku had always chastised him, and pulled the blanket around his exposed body.

At last, and in a calmer voice, Ikkaku went on. "Yumichika, you know what they want," he warned. "You know it's all they want. They'll never grow tired of it. It's never going to end."

"I know that."

This response stunned Ikkaku – the resignation, the sound of defeat . . . who was this person sitting in front of him?

"You _know _that? And you're okay with it? This can't be what you want, Yumichika!"

Yumichika closed his eyes in a weak attempt to hide the sadness that was threatening to overflow. Ikkaku had only seen him cry once before, and he did not want to see it again.

"Since when does it matter what I want," Yumichika answered. "You don't _want _me. The captain doesn't want me. The Eleventh Squad doesn't want me. I don't fit in anywhere. This is all that's left."

Ikkaku was speechless. Suddenly, things were becoming clear to him that he had never seen or even suspected before.

_You don't want me._

In all the years they had known each other, Ikkaku had always considered himself to be the "needy" one in their friendship. He needed feeding, clothing, patching up, moral support, the acquiescence of his closest confidant. He'd needed Yumichika's devoted attention, his humor, and his acceptance of all the traits that had made Ikkaku unacceptable to everyone else. Yumichika's presence had tempered him, taken some of the edge off, and shown him that it really was possible for someone to love and value him.

But he had completely overlooked the other part of the equation. Yumichika needed _him_.

Yumichika needed to be wanted – not for his beauty or his body or his abilities, but for the person he was – his character, his good and bad points, his strength, and –now Ikkaku could see – his vulnerability.

Ikkaku had been filling that role since the moment they'd met. He'd been the one thing Yumichika had needed more than anything else. He had fulfilled Yumichika's need to be wanted.

Ikkaku's rejection of Yumichika had done more than sunder their relationship; it had destroyed Yumichika's entire sense of purpose. It had taken away the one thing that had given Yumichika a place of belonging.

For the first time, a terrible truth dawned on Ikkaku. Long had he attributed his revised outlook on life to the introduction of Kenpachi Zaraki into that life. Zaraki had given him purpose and filled him with a sense of awe. The sheer, raw strength and spirit energy, the willingness to die in pursuit of a good battle, the thrill of combat – all of these things had invigorated him and given him a focus for what had, before, been unfocused and brutal.

But now, the truth had finally shattered that illusion. His life had started to change the day he had met Yumichika. The process had been so slow and subtle that he hadn't realized it. Until now. The faith in humanity that he had lost before even coming to Soul Society had been recovered through his acquaintance with Yumichika. It had not been fully restored yet, but it had been well on its way. It was another case of him needing Yumichika in his life, and he hadn't even recognized it.

But all the time that he had considered himself to be the receiver, he now knew better. Yumichika had needed him – badly. Badly enough that he'd given up everything he loved, everything he knew, including his own zanpakuto, to be with him.

That was when Ikkaku decided.

He stepped outside and retrieved Ruri'iro Kujaku from where it had fallen. He brought it inside and propped it in the corner close to where Yumichika was sitting. "This is yours. Keep it."

With that, he left, his mind already made up. He now only had to follow through – and hope he had the courage to stand by his decision.

* * *

_**I hope you all enjoyed seeing Mendalo again. Poor guy!**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Dear Reader, Just one note. I always thought Captain Komamura was a fox, not a dog; so I have decided to just keep it that way! I refer to him as a fox in this chapter! :-) Happy reading. Peace, TK**_

* * *

Chapter 6 Losses

"_Like the sun through the trees, you came to love me.  
__Like a leaf on the breeze, you blew away.  
__A gentle rain falls softly on my weary eyes,  
__As if to hide a lonely tear.  
__My life will be forever autumn,  
__Now, you're not here."_

_Forever Autumn  
_Justin Hayward

"The fire is out," Captain Hitsugaya reported. "We'd already lost an entire block, but it's out now."

Captain Kyoraku tried to appear grateful; and in truth, he was. He just wasn't in a frame of mind to show any enthusiasm. "Good work, Toshiro. If it weren't for Hyorinmaru, we might have lost a lot more."

"They've counted six dead so far, and about a dozen injured," Toshiro said. "My squad is helping Squad Four go through the damage. About a dozen buildings were affected, but luckily, they were mostly office buildings, and no one was there at that hour. Most of the injuries are from Squad Six members who were in the buildings on the other side of the alley when the place blew. It took down that entire wall and sent shrapnel hundreds of yards." He looked at the crater where the forge used to be. "Captain Komamura said the place had been rigged with explosives."

Shunsui nodded. "Yes. He's lucky he and Iba weren't killed. They barely got out in time." He was silent and thoughtful for a moment. "If he hadn't released his bankai to take most of the impact, our casualties would have been much worse."

As if on cue, Captain Sajin Komamura approached. He had been standing several yards away, where members of Squad Four were tending to the wounded.

"How's Iba?" Shunsui asked.

"Banged up, but he'll be okay," Komamura replied.

"Mendalo?"

"Not good." The reply was given in as dispassionate a voice as possible. Captain Komamura believed that it was crucial to maintain a calm, professional demeanor under such circumstances. He was known for losing his cool relatively easily in the past. It was a trait he had worked long and hard to improve.

Now that the immediate danger was over, Captain Kyoraku could take a more detailed account. He would need as many particulars as possible when he reported to the head captain.

"Tell me exactly what happened," he said.

"I was sleeping when Iba came and woke me. He'd been on the night patrol, and he said that Mendalo wanted me to meet him at the forge, that it seemed urgent," Komamura began. "So I went with Iba, and when we came to the forge, it was dark and empty. The ovens were going, but no one was there. As soon as we went inside, I could smell it, and then I could hear it." He purposefully twitched his fox's nose and one ear. "You know my senses are better than any human's. The ovens have a very distinct smell, but this was something else. It smelled like creosote, the wood-based type used to coat fuses. And when I listened closely, I could hear the hissing sound of a burning fuse – many fuses." A pause. "We followed it down into the cellar, and it looked like the place had been ransacked, but the smell of creosote was even more powerful. We followed it to a doorway into another room, and it was filled to the ceiling with zanpakuto. And I could see dozens of tiny sparks burning across the floor and up the . . . the shelves that the zanpakuto were on. The whole place had been rigged to blow up, and there was no time to stop it. Mendalo was lying on the ground; he'd been beaten up a bit, but he was pinned down with two swords clear through his body and driven into the ground. He was bound with a bakudo spell. We freed him and got out as fast as we could. Iba was carrying him, and as soon as we got outside, the first explosion went off. All three of us were blown clear across the alley and into the wall. That's when I knew we wouldn't get away in time, and I released Tenken. I figured his sheer size would be able to absorb some of the blast and at least provide a barrier to the shrapnel. I don't know how many explosions followed after that, but it felt like the earth was being torn apart."

"Did Mendalo say anything about who was responsible?"

"He hasn't been able to speak," Komamura replied. "He's been drifting in and out. Hopefully, they can patch him up enough so we can get some answers."

"If he has any answers," Toshiro put in.

"Did you see anything suspicious when you got here? Or after the explosion?" Shunsui asked, directing the question to Captain Komamura.

"Nothing. There was no one else around."

Shunsui grimaced. "Has anyone seen Heykibi? His apartment was above the forge."

"Oh, if you're thinking he was blown to bits, I wouldn't count on it!"

The three captains turned to see a fourth captain approaching.

Captain Kurotsuchi.

Shunsui bit down on his displeasure at the glee in the Squad Twelve captain's voice. "Have you discovered anything?"

"Oh, indeed, I have," he replied with a wide, toothy grin. "Captain Komamura, you told me earlier that there must have been thousands of zanpakuto in that room—"

"Many thousands," Komamura interjected.

"Well, one would think that after the destruction of so many thousands of zanpakuto, the air here would be thick with loose reiatsu," Mayuri beamed.

Captain Kyoraku already knew where this was going. "No reiatsu?"

"Not a speck!"

"It's already been absorbed," Shunsui supposed.

"Precisely."

"Absorbed?" Captain Hitsugaya was stunned. "By whom?"

"My guess would be—" Mayuri began, but Shunsui cut him off.

"Don't even suggest it," he warned.

"Well, now, now . . . I would have thought it was Ayasegawa, but not after tonight," Mayuri replied.

"Ayasegawa?" Both Toshiro and Sajin spoke at the same time.

"No, no, not anymore!" Mayuri glared at them impatiently. "After tonight, it's obvious."

"Well, it's not obvious to me," Shunsui replied.

"That's because you're so dull-headed," Mayuri puckered.

Shunsui was not going to be as accommodating as he'd been the last time they'd spoken. "Make your point, Captain Kurotsuchi. We don't have time for grand-standing."

"Tsk-tsk. My point is that there really is only one person who could have built such a stockpile of zanpakuto without anyone else knowing – if, in fact, no one else knew. Maybe others knew. Maybe someone directed him to do it. Maybe—"

"Who?" Sajin demanded.

"Who? Why, Heykibi, who else?"

"Heykibi? That's ridiculous," Shunsui deferred. "He doesn't have a violent bone in his body. He's been the Gotei 13's master sword smith for . . . I don't even know how long, before I came here, that's for certain."

"Who else would have the ability to build up a collection of so many zanpakuto? He could create as many as he pleased, and no one else would ever know. He could store them under his shop, under the very place where he lived. No one could come or go without him knowing. He could keep them hidden," Kurotsuchi explained. "And he has that . . . inexplicable ability to infuse a non-living thing with living spirit energy."

"All the zanpakuto sword smiths have that ability—"

"Yes, and what an ability it is!" Mayuri enthused. "It's almost god-like! Why, I could stand here all day and utter the very same incantations the sword smiths do and not be able to impart a single iota of spirit energy into a piece of metal." He raised his hands in excitement. "Ohhh, it's almost like having the power of an Atmen! And Heykibi has been doing it so long that, surely, he must have learned over the years, how to take that energy back. How to take energy from any living creature—"

"Stop," Shunsui commanded. Mayuri's mention of an Atmen had stunned and rattled him, and now he had to admit that it was a possibility he had never considered. "Just because a man can infuse a sword with spirit energy doesn't make him an Atmen," he pointed out. "That would make all the sword smiths Atmens. And none of them even had a zanpakuto, so—"

"Heykibi didn't need a zanpakuto," Kurotsuchi cut him off. "He found another way. He used his own power, separate from anything possessed by a zanpakuto, to steal away reiatsu over the centuries. Why, he must have been keenly attuned to the demise of every soul, every Shinigami, every zanpakuto, and he's been there to collect whatever remains of their spirit energy and fuse it into a collective whole." A pause. "By destroying all those zanpakuto just now, think of the sheer volume of spirit energy he must have been able to collect! And I would imagine he is incorporating it into the demon, as we speak." The grotesque smile widened, "A demon comprised of millions of individual entities. A demon that can move in and out of the precipice world as it pleases, because it is pure spirit energy."

Shunsui still could not accept the premise. "Heykibi was a loyal man. He wouldn't just betray Soul Society like that. You have no proof—"

"We have the word of an eye witness." The sound of Captain Retsu Unohana's voice made them all turn. She approached with the smooth grace that marked her entire being. "Mendalo was able to speak to us for just a few seconds." She looked down for a moment before facing them. "Captain Kurotsuchi's suspicions are correct. Heykibi is responsible – not only for the explosion, but for the existence of the demon."

"Mendalo said that? How does he know? I'd better talk to him," Shunsui said, taking a step towards the triage area.

Unohana stopped him with a petite hand on his arm. "You can't talk to him. He's dead."

Her words shocked them all.

"Dead? But—but was he hurt that badly?" Toshiro asked.

Unohana's manner was maternal. "We Shinigami tend to forget that not every soul has our level of spirit energy. Not every soul can take the kind of abuse our bodies can take. Mendalo had many strengths, but spirit energy was not one of them. Even with Lieutenant Tetsuzaemon trying to protect him from the blast, he sustained injuries that were simply too grievous for his low level of spirit energy to heal. We tried, but he was already too far gone." She drew in a deep breath. "But he did regain consciousness for a few seconds. He said it was Heykibi who caused the explosion and created the demons. He said Heykibi told him that Soul Society was unfair and that he was angry that he had never been a Shinigami." Her eyes grew dark. "And he knows that Ayasegawa has a zanpakuto that can defeat what he's created. He's going to look for him."

"And with all the spirit energy he just took from these zanpakuto, I'll bet he finds him quickly." Mayuri was gleaming with anticipation.

Shunsui, on the other hand, was anxious for another reason.

This entire situation was a disaster in the making.

Not just for Ayasegawa, but potentially for all of Soul Society.

For if Mayuri were right . . . if Heykibi had the power of an Atmen at his disposal, there could be no doubt that he was better equipped to wield it than Ayasegawa was to wield his. And if one Atmen were to absorb another . . .

He had to see Captain Yamamoto.

Immediately.

* * *

So, this was what it had come down to?

Somewhere along the line, Yumichika had slipped beneath his defenses and become important to him. That was the case, and he could not undo his attachment. Yumichika was the only soul Ikkaku had ever loved; not in a romantic or erotic sense—although the latter certainly formed a part of the attraction—but more in a sense of agape. Yumichika had tolerated everything Ikkaku had put him through. He'd given up his entire life and character to be with Ikkaku, to be what Ikkaku wanted him to be. He had traded his true self—an often flighty admirer of beautiful things—for the guise of a sadistic, selfish narcissist. He'd gone from a distaste of fighting to being something close to a barbarian where battle was concerned.

It had all been an act – put on for Ikkaku's benefit.

Yumichika had never changed from the mild, gentle soul that truly defined him into the heartless, cruel bastard so many had accused him of being. He'd only pretended. He'd displayed the characteristics of someone about as far from his nature as a soul could move. And Ikkaku had never wondered. He'd been too excited that Yumichika seemed to be turning into a warrior to worry about the disappearance of Yumichika's more humble aspects.

But what he had just seen and heard . . .

He had forgotten long ago about Yumichika's vulnerability. He had forgotten that Yumichika could be hurt.

"You idiot!" he burst out, chastising himself. "How could you forget—after all he's been through? You were there! You saw what his life was like. You know what happened to him."

His thoughts were so consumed, his body shaking from rage at himself that he did not notice right away the commotion coming from the village. By the time the shouting and screaming registered with him, he was already on his way up the mountainside.

Turning, he knew immediately what was happening. The demons had come and were attacking the villagers. His ability to sense the demons' presence had only improved marginally, but he had heard the chaos often enough to know when an attack was in progress.

His initial reaction was not one of valor, not the action of a soul reaper. He stood overlooking the village, hearing the sounds of terror and death; and he felt no sense of compassion or any desire to defend them. He hated them all – with the exception of Kaekae. He would never forget what they did to Yumichika. He would never forgive them. This was what they deserved.

_"You took an oath to defend Soul Society and its inhabitants. _All_ its inhabitants."_

Ikkaku grimaced. Despite his own predilection for conflict, he hated when Hoozukimaru used duty as an excuse to fight. He especially hated it when Hoozukimaru was right. And he was in no mood for a battle of wills with his zanpakuto.

"Right," he said. "Well, let's go."

* * *

Yumichika sensed the creatures' presence almost immediately after Ikkaku left the hutch. He jumped down onto the walkway and then stopped in his tracks. What was he doing?

He was no longer a Soul Reaper. He had no obligation to protect anyone anymore. And he had every reason to hope for the destruction of those who had hurt him so badly in the past.

But was every life in the village to be forfeit, then? Even those who had never hurt him? Those who had been kind to him? There weren't many. But for the sake of those few, should he try to defend the village?

He could not decide.

He wondered if it would make a difference anyway.

Then he felt it.

It was Ikkaku's reiatsu bursting into full flame.

The decision was made for him. He would not let Ikkaku fight alone.

He leaped up onto the deck and went inside the hutch. He looked at Ruri'iro Kujaku standing in the corner where Ikkaku had left him; and despite the revulsion he felt even being in the same room with the weapon, he knew it was all he had, the only thing available with which to fight.

"This doesn't change anything," he ground out, grasping the zanpakuto and heading out the door.

* * *

The general vicinity of the despised zanpakuto had been fairly easy to pinpoint. Soul Society was a big place, but such a weapon—even when suppressing its own reiatsu—was not easily hidden from the collective sensitivities of millions of individual spirit energies.

The demon had determined, within moments after the assimilation of so much new energy from the explosion, a range of area where the Azure Peacock was located. Now, all that remained was to flush it out and defeat it.

Heykibi trusted his creation implicitly to carry out its mission. And once the kujaku was disposed of, he could proceed unhindered in his desire to reform Soul Society into a more just system. From his place within the precipice world, he chuckled to himself. He did not have to lift a finger in the fighting. He could allow the demon to do what it most enjoyed and destroy the enemy. And as the battle wore on, he could begin the process of turning his desire into a plan. Oh, he knew the end result he wanted, but the plan to get there was vague and indistinct.

Still, he had time. Soul Society would not lose its structure without a fight. But he was ready. He was looking forward to it. In fact, the chance to show that a man of little spirit energy could yet command such power . . . why, it was the kind of justice that could only be considered divine.

He closed his eyes and entered his inner world, a world empty of any single zanpakuto of which he could say _servant_, but replete with the countless energies of accumulated effort. Of these, he might think _servants_, but he was careful to only call them _friends._

They had begun to ransack the village already. That was good. But then good turned into great. Could it be . . . yes, yes, it was Madarame. That was the best indicator possible that Ayasegawa was in the area. And it followed that where Ayasegawa was, so was his zanpakuto.

It would not be long now.

* * *

Ikkaku had had many reasons to curse the Bureau of Research and Development before, but he was finding a whole slew of new ones in facing the same relentless enemy yet another time – and single-handedly this encounter.

The villagers were of no use, leaving Ikkaku to fight the battle on his own. He cursed Mayuri and his squad for their slowness in detecting the demons every time they arrived. And given how far Mito village was from the Seireitei, how long would it be before one of the squads arrived to help him? Even using shunpo, the soonest he could expect them to arrive was fifteen minutes.

And then to what end? It always became a battle of attrition. Could they kill more of the demons than they ended up creating by lopping off a body part? And how many civilians would be sucked dry of their spirit energy – or left an empty shell – before the demons could be driven to retreat.

So many questions yet remained. Who were they and what was the purpose behind their attacks? Where did they come from? How many more were there to be contended with? They seemed unconcerned with their inevitable retreats. The loss of members of their ranks resulted in no greater determination on their part. Simply put, they seemed to have nothing to lose and no end to their numbers.

Ikkaku had decided long ago that any idea of ultimate victory was hopeless. He took no pleasure in fighting the creatures anymore. He had not found pleasure in anything lately. Even the flow of sake could not fill or mask the emptiness, and so he had given it up. His life had shrunk down to him and Hoozukimaru – and if he'd been able to shed the zanpakuto, he might have, given how angry the dragon was with him.

But that had been on the verge of changing. If he survived this encounter, it _would _change. He had a chance to matter again, to be of use, and to repair injuries wrought by his own hand.

He felt something wrap around his calve. Suppressing the instinct to spin and sever – knowing that such an action would only result in the severed appendage becoming another creature – he instead twisted, allowing part of his reiatsu to be drained, and took careful aim at the pulsating cranial globe. He launched Hoozukimaru spear-style, piercing the globe and sending the creature up in a cloud of black dust. No sooner had he freed himself from one than another appeared before him – and another. The villagers, in their ignorance and helplessness, had split the demons many times over; Ikkaku knew he would be overwhelmed unless he fled.

But if there was one thing Ikkaku Madarame did not do, it was flee. Not even from the defense of a citizenry he despised. He would not do it.

He considered using his bankai, but decided against it. Such a massive physical weapon would only result in more creatures. He shunpo'd to the center of the village, where the closeness of the structures made it more difficult for the demons to attack directly. He had to take away their straight shots while losing his own. But outnumbered as he was, it was the best way to buy himself time. Let the creatures have to negotiate walls, doors, and windows. He might destroy a few of them in the process.

The sounds of chaos and terror continued around him, and he did not know how to feel. Death was a part of life – even in Soul Society. And for some souls, even death was too good an end.

He found himself in a small room adjoining a shop that he had known well from his days of living in Mito. Just seeing the place – even under the current desperate circumstances – made his blood boil. It was a distiller's shop – and in the next moment, the distiller burst in from the storefront, slammed the door behind him. He pushed a large, heavy table in front of the door, then turning, he noticed Ikkaku for the first time.

"Ma-Madarame-san?!" he barely managed to find the breath to speak.

Ikkaku said nothing. The sight of Youni was enough to make him wish he did not take his duty so seriously.

"You—you have to—what are you doing here?" Youni spluttered, nearly collapsing against the table he had just moved.

Still, Ikkaku was silent.

"Did—did the Seireitei send you? Are you here to—to help?"

"No one sent me," Ikkaku said in a low voice.

"What are we going to do?!" Youni cried, to which Ikkaku responded with more stony silence.

The door rattled, and as Youni jumped away from the table, eyes even wider than before, he looked in panic at Ikkaku.

"You have to protect me! You have to save me!"

Ikkaku's expression did not change. "Why would I do that?"

"I wasn't one of them!" the man blurted out in terror. "I never—I never laid a hand on him!"

"I don't know if you did or not. He never did tell me who was involved. But I don't care. If nothing else, you knew what was going on and you didn't try to stop it."

"You're—you're a soul reaper! You can't—"

The door burst open, slamming the table across the room. Ikkaku leaped into the air, but the distiller took the full brunt of the impact and was knocked to the floor.

Tentacles reached out for the shopkeeper, but never reached him. Hoozukimaru's spear point perfectly dissected the globe and the creature fell into dust. Ikkaku looked hatefully at the man cowering on the floor. "Be glad my training overpowered my instincts."

He sprang out the door into the alleyway behind the shop and headed for the next street. He needed to find out if Yumichika and Kaekae were in any danger, but he did not want to risk drawing attention to their location, if, in fact, the demons had not already noticed them. He also did not want to cover the expanse of open ground between the village and the sea.

Warning towers stood at all four corners of the village. If Ikkaku could get to the top of the sea-facing one, he might be able to see what was going on.

He made two short shunpo moves, not quite sure of the tower's exact location. At last, after several missteps, he came to the tower's base and in three powerful leaps, was up on top.

What he saw made his heart sink. The area along the shoreline was spotted with black dust. And while the dust was a good sign, indicating the destruction of a creature, there was no way of knowing if there were any still alive and fighting in that area.

Ikkaku closed his eyes and concentrated all his senses in an attempt to detect Yumichika's reiatsu – the sad, forlorn thing he had felt in the hutch.

He could feel nothing. Yumichika must be suppressing it.

"Yumichika . . . " He whispered. He had to find him – or find out what had happened to him. He leaped from the top of the tower, only to find himself falling among splintered timbers. The tower was destroyed. Looking down, he saw two of the demons, appendages mutated into sledges, standing where the base of the tower used to be.

Up from the ground, another demon reached out tentacles that took on the same shape as Hoozukimaru. Ikkaku spun in middair and prepared to intercept them. But as he drew his arm back, flung out at the ready, he felt something wrap around his wrist, then his waist. In less than a second, the black tentacles of yet two more demons had him completely immobilized.

_Damn it, where were the squads?!_

He was struggling, but it was useless. His reiatsu was draining away, and he couldn't stop it. He began to feel weak, as if he were fading. The image of morning mist evaporating in the sun filled his head. It was a peaceful image. Maybe he should quit fighting – no! Such complacency was evil! Was this what Yumichika had sensed and labeled as evil the first time the creatures had appeared? This ability to encourage a victim to welcome defeat?

Ikkaku's eyes shot open at the same instant that a screeching sound filled the air. Ikkaku had heard it only once before, and he had never forgotten it. He never would.

Suddenly, he was free, and the air around him was filled with black dust, clogging his lungs and burning his eyes as he fell to the ground.

Before he made contact, however, something cushioned his fall. He looked beneath him and shuddered. He could not stop a gasp from escaping his lips.

An azure vine, broad as his own body – it was not exactly like the ones he had seen before, but he recognized it nonetheless. He followed its length until his eyes came to Yumichika, lying haphazardly atop a pile of rubble, clutching his zanpakuto with all his might, as if the weapon might break loose.

The expression on his face was one of terror and determination, uncertainty and reluctance.

Ikkaku scrambled over to him. "What are you doing?!" he demanded.

It was a good question. "I—I don't know!" Yumichika replied, closing his eyes and straining to keep a grip on the power in his hands. Never before had Ruri'iro Kujaku come forth with such unadulterated power.

"Are you crazy? That thing's going to kill you!" Ikkaku shouted, reaching down in an attempt to pry Yumichika's hands from the hilt.

By _thing_, Yumichika knew Ikkaku was not referring to the demons, but to Ruri'iro Kujaku. "No, he's not!" he protested vehemently. "He's destroying them!"

"He's too much for you! You said yourself, you can't control him!"

"I can!" Yumichika insisted.

"Not when he's releasing this much power! Yumichika, let go! Or send him back into sword form!"

"Just help me hang on!" Yumichika countered.

Ikkaku hesitated. A quick scan of the situation showed that Yumichika was right. Ruri'iro Kujaku was defeating the creatures – handily. A jungle of azure vines had sprung from the hilt and spread even beyond sight. Any creature unfortunate enough to be ensnared burst within seconds. The air in and above the village was turning black with dust.

There was a ferocity in the attacks that both impressed and frightened Ikkaku. Impressed, because of its sheer power. Frightened, because it led Ikkaku to wonder what hidden part of Yumichika's soul housed this ruthlessly efficient, violent voracity.

"Ikkaku . . . " Yumichika pleaded. "Help me! I can't keep a hold—"

Ikkaku clamped his hands down on top of Yumichika's. Immediately, he felt a warmth seep into his hands and radiate up his arms. It was some small part of Ruri'iro Kujaku's reiatsu, filtered through its master, but still powerful enough that Ikkaku recognized that the zanpakuto seemed to amplify all of Yumichika's traits and characteristics. It was as if they were one and the same. And yet Ikkaku hated the one and, dare he admit it, loved the other?

Beside him, Yumichika relaxed a bit. The strain of holding onto Ruri'iro Kujaku was lessened somewhat by Ikkaku's assistance. Still, Yumichika knew the battle was not yet over. He could still sense overwhelming wickedness, which meant there were still many creatures in existence, unless the wickedness came from the villagers, and that was certainly possible.

He'd headed for the village fully intending _not_ to use Ruri'iro Kujaku's full release form, but immediately upon seeing Ikkaku's predicament, the release command had come reflexively. "Fuji" had been nowhere on his lips or in his thoughts.

It wasn't until Ruri'iro Kujaku's explosive release in the face of such hostility that Yumichika remembered just how powerful and dangerous his zanpakuto was. And just how physically weak _he_ was after so many months of neglect and abuse. He'd fully released the Azure Peacock many times in the past, but only against this enemy was the release so violent. Perhaps that was because of the creature's similarities to Ruri'iro Kujaku, necessitating the need to strike hard and fast.

The release had knocked Yumichika on his back, just as it had last time, and he'd watched in astonishment as more and more vines broke forth from the hilt. He'd also watched in fear, as his ability to hold onto his weapon grew more tenuous.

And now, he had no idea if Ruri'iro Kujaku would even obey him, given the circumstances and the zanpakuto's power. It was undeniable that Ruri'iro Kujaku had not always been perfectly obedient, but when there was a genuine threat, he had always responded as Yumichika had asked.

"How much more can he withstand?"

Ikkaku's voice drew him out of his own thoughts.

"I don't know . . . " Yumichika replied. "I think he has no limits."

"What about you?"

"I'll hold on as long as I can."

"Maybe-maybe you should try to rein him in a little. He's going to kill you," Ikkaku suggested.

"He has to fight! If I rein him in, he could be defeated!" Yumichika cried. "I'm just trying to hold on!"

"What happens if you let go?"

"I don't—" His voice cut off abruptly as a black, pencil-thin tentacle encircled his neck.

Ikkaku turned to see a demon approaching over the rubble. But it was not alone. There were at least a dozen with it.

"Shit!" he cursed as he jumped to his feet, and brought forth Hoozukimaru. He sprang forward and after a couple deflected jabs, pierced the globe, but he could have no moment of relief. The other demons continued their approach through the settling dust.

"Are you okay, Yumichika?" he called back over his shoulder.

"Yeah," came the reply, but he didn't sound okay.

Ikkaku braced himself for the confrontation with the encroaching enemy; but to his horror, the tentacles shot past him as if he didn't exist and went straight for Yumichika.

They knew. The creatures knew who was defeating them. They knew who wielded the implement of their destruction, and they were focusing their attack on that individual.

It may have been only the second time Ikkaku had felt panic. He watched as scores of tentacles wrapped around Yumichika's body. If Yumichika lost consciousness, Ruri'iro Kujaku would revert back to sword form, and not only would Yumichika die, but the entire battle would be lost.

Ikkaku could sever the vines, but he could not move fast enough to kill all of them before they succeeded in killing Yumichika. A desperation gripped him as never before, futility erupting from his lungs in screams of rage and anguish. He lunged forward, only to find himself accompanied by Ruri'iro Kujaku's vines. The zanpakuto had sensed his master's distress and come to his aid, vanquishing demon after demon.

And then suddenly, Ikkaku felt the spirit pressure of familiar souls. Looking up as the dust cleared, he saw relief had finally arrived.

Captain Hitsugaya, so that meant 10th Squad. And he could feel the reiatsu of Captain Kuchiki, even though he could not see him. Sixth Squad.

Heavy hitters. That gave him hope. What he didn't feel was his own captain. Zaraki was not there. It could simply be that he'd not been tasked, but it still sat like a stone in Ikkaku's gut.

He had no time to think about it. He returned to Yumichika's side.

"Are you alright?"

Yumichika only nodded, too exhausted and drained for words.

Ikkaku saw Ruri'iro Kujaku dangling precariously in one hand. He put Yumichika's other hand on the hilt and once again, lent his own hands to maintain the grip. "Help's here," he assured him.

Yumichika raised his eyes in acknowledgment.

"You can call him back into the sword," Ikkaku said. "I think the squads can take it from here."

Yumichika shook his head.

"Yumichika, he's taking too much out of you!" Ikkaku protested. "And you've lost a lot of reiatsu from those tentacles!" And although it was foolish of him, Ikkaku wanted Ruri'iro Kujaku back in the sword out of . . . jealousy, of all things! Ruri'iro Kujaku had been able to do what Ikkaku hadn't. He'd decimated the enemy, but even more: he'd saved Yumichika's life. He'd seen his master in peril, and even after all that had transpired between them over the years—the hatred and distrust-he'd come immediately to his assistance.

It was a fact Ikkaku could not ignore: Ruri'iro Kujaku was devoted to Yumichika – even beyond being a part of him. How many times had the peacock sprang into life at Yumichika's command that Ikkaku did not know of? How many times had he defended and saved his master's life? It amazed Ikkaku that, despite the animosity, despite Yumichika's suppressing and obscuring of the zanpakuto, the bond between them was strong enough that they both fell together when threatened.

It drove a spike of envy through Ikkaku's heart. Perhaps he had always secretly rejoiced at the chasm that had deepened between Ruri'iro Kujaku and Yumichika; even if he had not been willing to admit it to himself.

He looked at Yumichika, withered and struggling on the ground, then at Ruri'iro Kujaku, the image of radiant, overwhelming power; and he prepared to bully Yumichika into recalling the zanpakuto into sword form, but the arrival of Lieutenant Renji Abarai stopped him.

"You guys okay?" Renji asked, putting a hand on Ikkaku's shoulder.

"I am," Ikkaku replied, noticing Renji's wide-eyed astonishment at the sight of Ruri'iro Kujaku in action.

"Is that—is that . . . " Renji wasn't sure how to phrase the question.

"Yeah," Ikkaku replied. "That's his full release. That's Ruri'iro Kujaku."

"Damn . . . " Renji sighed in awe. His gaze went to Yumichika.

"Is he okay?"

"I don't think so, but he won't call him back," Ikkaku replied.

Renji looked back at Ruri'iro Kujaku's vines, undulating into the distance, a half-dozen or so lingering nearby in a protective posture.

"He's defeating them," he remarked.

"Yeah," was all Ikkaku would say in response.

"Let him keep fighting," Renji said.

Ikkaku did not argue.

Several more minutes passed, during which things seemed to grow quieter. Renji never left, and it occurred to Ikkaku that the Squad Six lieutenant had been sent by his captain to watch over him and Yumichika. He should have been grateful, but it was just another reason for him to feel guilty and resentful. He wasn't good for anything. But he could still change that . . .

At last, the sounds of battle ceased.

"I think it's over," Renji announced. "Yumichika?" he asked, hunkering down beside him.

After several seconds, Yumichika replied, "I don't sense them anymore."

Ruri'iro Kujaku began to withdraw and recede into the hilt, raining a shower of blooms as it did so.

"What are all these flowers?" Renji asked.

"That's . . . how he works," Yumichika's voice was thin, almost dreamy.

Renji and Ikkaku looked at each other in puzzlement and shrugged at this non-explanation. Still, neither of them was quite ready to lower their guards.

Renji stood up and looked into the village. "Time to assess the damage, I guess," he said grimly. He looked at Yumichika, still sprawled in exhaustion, then to Ikkaku. "Keep an eye on him." He started to pick his way across the rubble.

"Renji!" Ikkaku called out.

Renji paused and turned. "Yeah?"

Ikkaku leaped to where Renji waited and said in a low voice, so that Yumichika would not hear. "I'm not going back."

Renji looked at him blankly. "Back . .. where?"

"To the Seireitei," Ikkaku replied. "I'm leaving the Gotei 13. I was on my way back to tell Captain Zaraki when this happened."

"What?! You can't be serious!" Renji protested.

"Keep your voice down!" Ikkaku hissed. "Yumichika doesn't know yet. I'm not sure how he'll feel about it."

"But we need you," Renji insisted. "We need Yumichika. Why can't you both come back?"

"Captain Zaraki won't allow it—"

"Then join another squad!"

Ikkaku shook his head. "It would be too awkward, and besides . . . Yumichika isn't cut out for the Gotei 13. I should have realized that long ago."

"Ikkaku, you need to think about this—" Renji cut off at the sight of Yumichika teetering to his feet. "Yumichika-san!"

Yumichika's only response was, "Kaekae," as he started off in the direction of the sea.

"Yumichika, stop! You wait here!" Ikkaku ordered him. "I'll go check on him."

Yumichika paid no heed and continued stumbling through the devastation.

Ikkaku looked to Renji. "Can you stay with him while I go—"

Before he could finish, Renji cut him off. "Yumichika!"

A monstrous swath of black materialized directly in Yumichika's path, drawing up into a mound-shaped obstacle. It was of the same essence as the demons – even Renji and Ikkaku could sense this much – but its appearance was completely different. Its body was bulbous, like a great accumulation of molten lead, boiling and hissing with steam. It stood at least three meters high and ten meters around at its base. Unlike the demons, it had no discernible appendages or head. No glowing lights illuminated its interior.

Even Ikkaku, whose sensitivity to the energy of others was minimal, could feel the evil emanating from this thing.

Yumichika took a step back as he raised Ruri'iro Kujaku, still in sword form. But he had no chance to utter the release command.

Three quill-like barbs shot out from the creature's mass and pierced his torso, impaling him. Ruri'iro Kujaku clattered to the ground, at which the creature snaked out a tentacle from its body to apprehend it. At the same time, the creature pulled Yumichika to itself. He passed through its gelatinous outer layer; but before the creature could draw him in completely, Ikkaku and Renji sprang into action.

Ikkaku grabbed Yumichika's arms and shoulders and tried to keep him from being drawn any further into the creature. Renji severed the tentacle clutching Ruri'iro Kujaku, only for the tentacle to elongate into a demon. He did not hesitate but used Zabimaru to stab the demon in the head.

"Help me, Renji!" Ikkaku called out.

Renji joined him, but any attempt to pull Yumichika away from the creature drove the barbs deeper into his flesh.

"We're tearing him apart!" Renji shouted. "We've got to cut these barbs!"

"No! No!" Ikkaku protested. "They'll turn into more demons and they'll be inside him!"

Renji struck at the creature with Zabimaru, but it was like slicing gelatin.

"It's going to pull us all in!" Renji warned. "We have to sever these barbs and take the chance, Ikkaku! If we don't, he'll definitely die. And so will we! This way, we have a chance! "

Ikkaku hesitated only a second. Renji was right. They had no hope at this moment other than taking a risk. "Do it!"

Renji brought Zabimaru down, slicing through the barbs and eliciting a horrible high-pitched grating sound from the creature; and somehow he knew that sound was not of pain, but of rage. The prize had been stolen, and retribution would be swift.

Ikkaku and Yumichika had both fallen to the ground, where Ikkaku looked on in horror as the yellow globes failed to materialize. He had at least figured that once the globes appeared, striking them would kill the creatures; but no globes appeared on either the exiting end or the entry of the barbs. But then, through the tattered kimono covering Yumichika's body, three dim lights began to glow.

"No, no," Ikkaku whispered desperately, grabbing the kimono and pulling it open.

The lights originated beneath the skin. The only way to kill these creatures would be to pull them out or to stab them through Yumichika's body. Ikkaku already knew that pulling them out was not an option. To attempt it would be to shred Yumichika to pieces. He pulled Hoozukimaru from his scabbard and placed the point directly next to the center barb where it entered the skin. If he could follow the barb's path through Yumichika's body, he would come to the globe.

"What are you doing?!" Renji shouted.

"It's the only way! Just keep that thing busy!" Ikkaku replied. With that, he pushed Hoozukimaru into the wound.

The globe suddenly pulsated red and screams of agony erupted from Yumichika's lungs.

Ikkaku's initial instinct was to withdraw his weapon, but he pushed past it. If he withdrew, the creature would simply continue to drain Yumichika's reiatsu. With one powerful thrust, he drove Hoozukimaru deeper. The light vanished. Black dust and blood mingled as they flowed from the wound.

Ikkaku had no idea what the black dust inside Yumichika's body might do to him, but he didn't care. This was the only way to save him from the immediate threat.

"Ikkaku!" Renji bellowed out a warning as a swarm of barbs and tentacles sprang out from the creature.

Ikkaku braced himself, but the attack never reached him.

A bitter cold filled the air. He knew the nature of this cold . . .

Looking up, he saw a wall of ice before him. The creature was trapped inside.

Captain Hitsugaya, standing on top of one of the few still intact structures, was commanding. "Hurry up and get out of there!"

Both Renji and Ikkaku knew the reason for the captain's impatience. From previous experience, they knew the ice barrier only lasted a matter of seconds against the creature. They each took one of Yumichika's shoulders, but it was already too late.

The ice barrier exploded behind them, sending all three flying to land a hundred yards away among the rubble.

The creature resumed its attack with even greater viciousness. The tentacles and barbs burst forth again.

Renji saw them coming. "We need this!" he shouted, tossing Ruri'iro Kujaku to Ikkaku. "If he's still conscious, he needs to release him!"

Ikkaku caught the zanpakuto and wrapped Yumichika's fingers around it. Looking at his face, he wasn't sure if would do any good at this point, for while Yumichika was still conscious, Ikkaku did not know if he was coherent enough to understand. The two barbs still remaining in his body were, no doubt, continuing to drain his reiatsu.

"Yumichika, say the release command!" he demanded in an authoritative voice, hoping to break through Yumichika's stupor. "Yumichika! Do I as tell you! Say the release command!"

Yumichika's wandering, pain-filled gaze slowly settled upon Ikkaku and a moment of comprehension showed in his eyes.

"Hurry! You've got to do this before you lose consciousness!"

Yumichika opened his mouth, but he could not form any words. He could not muster the breath to speak them.

"Try harder! Yumichika, you have to do this! You're the only one who can defeat this thing! You can't let it win!" Ikkaku insisted.

Through the jumbled confusion of his pain and fading spirit energy, Yumichika came to a resigned understanding of Ikkaku's plea.

_You're the only one. You can't let it win._

Ikkaku's desperation had everything to do with saving Soul Society and winning the battle. It was oddly pragmatic for the usually emotion-driven Ikkaku.

Yumichika pooled together the last vestiges of his strength.

"Sakikirue—"

Both remaining globes radiated red, desperate to stop the release of the power they knew could kill them.

Yumichika, convulsed with pain, clawed desperately with his free hand at one of the barbs. His cries were something that threatened to rend Ikkaku's determination into pieces, which only meant Ikkaku had to act quickly before his own weakness ruined them all.

He grabbed Yumichika's jaw and turned his head to face him.

"Say it!" he screamed. "Finish the command! Say it! Say it!"

Yumichika's eyes met his. He could do this. He had to.

"R-Ruri'iro . . . Kujaku."

Ikkaku felt the power as the zanpakuto burst into life once more. Even though Yumichika was on the verge of death, yet Ruri'iro Kujaku was still abundantly full of energy. It was one of the advantages of a zanpakuto that, while it reverted back into sword form when its master lost consciousness, its power was not contingent upon its wielder's physical condition when its master was conscious.

And never was Ikkaku more thankful for that fact than now.

Ruri'iro Kujaku's first task was to destroy the two barbs in Yumichika's body, even as it sent a hail of vines towards the coming onslaught.

Now that Yumichika was free of the barbs, Ikkaku pulled him into his embrace.

"Hang on, Yumichika," he said with quiet intensity, tightening his grip on Yumichika's hand around the hilt. "Just a little longer. Don't let go."

Yumichika could not reply. He lay in Ikkaku's arms, barely aware of what was going on around him. He only knew he had to stay conscious. He had to give Ruri'iro Kujaku time to finish off the enemy.

Ikkaku's gaze went back and forth between Yumichika and Ruri'iro Kujaku. The zanpakuto was grappling with the creature, searching for an opening after discovering that he could not absorb the creature's energy by encircling it.

The hissing, spitting bubbles that rose to rupture on its surface were what Ruri'iro Kujaku was aiming for, but each time he made the attempt, the creature shot out an appendage as an ax or a sword to sever the vine. Still, Ruri'iro Kujaku's vigilance was keeping the creature from sending forth more demons.

Ikkaku became slowly aware of the arrival of more Soul Reapers, but they were giving Ruri'iro Kujaku a wide berth, perhaps trusting more to the zanpakuto than their own abilities to defeat the enemy. Or perhaps the mere sight of Ruri'iro Kujaku was enough to convince them to keep their distance.

And then, suddenly, Ruri'iro Kujaku found an opening. As the vines plunged into the creature's body, Yumichika startled in Ikkaku's arms.

"Ruri'iro Kujaku!" he cried out in fear and horror. "No! No!"

The hilt was pulled forcefully out of his hand, even with Ikkaku's extra pressure. It clattered to the rubble, trailing several vines for a few seconds until they faded and disappeared.

The vines that had entered the creature broke loose from the hilt and continued into its body.

"No . . . " Yumichika moaned, "Come back . . "

His body went limp.

For several seconds, nothing happened. Then, as Ikkaku and the others watched, the creature began to undulate across its surface. From beneath the _skin_, if it could be called that, a bluish light began to be visible. The glow increased and spread through more and more of the body, which now pitched and swayed convulsively.

The end lasted only an instant as the entire mass contracted to a pinpoint, which then disappeared into thin air.

No one moved or spoke. They had all been expecting an explosion or eruption of some sort, so the blinking out of the creature caught them all by surprise. They were not yet willing to believe that it had been defeated.

Only Ikkaku was disinterested in the manner of the creature's destruction. All that mattered to him lay in his arms, unconscious and near death.

"Yumichika!" he implored. "Come on, wake up! Wake up. You beat it. You won. You can't give up now."

But there was no response.

"I was wrong," Ikkaku went on desperately, wishing more than anything that his apology would not be in vain. "You have to give me the chance to make it up to you."

Yumichika was silent and unmoving. Ikkaku could feel him sinking deeper. He looked up at the two dozen or so Shinigami who now were emerging from their defensive postures and did something he had never done before: asked for help.

"For god's sake, somebody do something!" he begged.

"Move aside." This came from Captain Unohana. Squad Four was on the scene.

Ikkaku had no intention of letting Yumichika out of his grasp; yet Captain Unohana was gently persuasive.

"Madarame-san, you will need to move away just a little bit so we can treat him."

Ikkaku looked at her for a long moment of indecision and then did as she asked.

He had seen the genuine concern in her face. Retsu Unohana was unflappable. She made it a point to stay calm and in control. As a healer, people depended on her for compassionate stoicism. It was well-known, though not often witnessed, that her abilities were insanely powerful; but she was careful about using her zanpakuto's full strength, for not only was it powerful but it could be dangerous, as well.

But seeing Yumichika's condition, she knew that even her healing skills could only do so much in the face of such a massive loss of reiatsu. But there was more than that; she could detect no sense of struggle coming from Yumichika, and that scared her more than the lost reiatsu. Yumichika was not fighting.

She erected a sterile barrier around him then looked up over shoulder at Captains Kuchiki and Hitsugaya.

"I need to get him back to the Seireitei as quickly as possible." She released the bankai of her zanpakuto, Minazuki – a whale-like creature whose stomach acids had healing powers.

Unohana looked at Ikkaku. "Put him inside."

Ikkaku did as she ordered. "I want to come with you."

Unohana regarded him with empathy. "Climb on top."

They left just as Captains Kyoraku, Ukitake and Kurotsuchi were arriving.

The investigation and cleanup were just beginning.

None of which meant a thing to Ikkaku.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 More Questions Than Answers

"_Lonely is the river  
__As it tumbles to the ocean  
__Searching for our freedom,  
__We can't find our way back home."_

_Haunted  
_Justin Hayward

* * *

Impossible! _Impossible!_ This was an outrage that would not stand! An affront so egregious, it was inconceivable!

The work of centuries gone in an instant! The collected reiatsu of millions . . . taken from him with so little effort!

How had a single zanpakuto managed what thousands of others had not?

How? How!

He knew how. He knew damned well how!

While both the demons and the zanpakuto had shared the same sort of ability—the ability to siphon reiatsu—there had been two great differences.

First, the zanpakuto was an Atmen. Of that, Heykibi was now absolutely certain. And how was a confrontation with an Atmen to end in anything other than defeat? He berated himself for his own hubris for refusing to believe that such a delicate soul as Ayasegawa could ever possess such a power.

Second, the zanpakuto had a true master. A soul who had given existence and life to the weapon. A soul who had shared the essence of his being with it. Even the well-known hatred between Ayasegawa and his zanpakuto had not been enough to destroy the bond that existed between them.

That bond had driven the zanpakuto to risk its own existence in order to save its master.

No such sentiment had been instilled in the demon. No such sentiment could be instilled ever. It was something that had to arise on its own, born of a connection Heykibi could never have with his own creation. The collection of reiatsu he had amassed had been powerful, but he'd made one mistake in its development.

He'd imbued it with a sense of its own importance. He had given it every reason to believe in its own eliteness, its unmerited right to reign over others who were of lesser value and intelligence.

He had never been its master. It had been its own master.

He had merely been the creator.

And now, it was gone. Sucked dry by the cursed Azure Peacock.

Yet, Heykibi's mind was already in motion. The demon's collective reiatsu had not been obliterated. It still existed. Only now, it was part of an Atmen.

And that meant it could be regained. For what an Atmen took, it could also give – and in ways unimaginable to the dull of mind.

But how was he going to find out what had happened to the weapon? Where was it now? Ayasegawa had been in bad shape just before the culmination of the battle. He might even be dead now. If that were the case, then the Atmen would be free . . .

How was he to find out?

It would require some careful maneuvering, for one thing was for certain: he could not show his face in Soul Society again.

* * *

Hoozukimaru was frantic.

Looking out through his master's eyes, he'd seen every second of the battle, including its end. He'd seen Ruri'iro Kujaku launch himself into the demon, and he'd seen the creature's destruction. He'd seen the empty hilt clatter to the ground. He'd felt the sudden vacuum of reiatsu where Ruri'iro Kujaku's vibrancy had been enough to make even the air tremble.

He'd been blocked for months from entering the peacock's world or even communicating with him. But he'd always been able to sense him.

He could not sense him anymore.

From the moment they'd left the destruction of Mito, Hoozukimaru had been struggling over whether or not to broach the subject with his master.

Ikkaku was distraught enough as it were. Hoozukimaru had never seen him in such a state, and so he held back for as long as he could with his own concerns.

Had Ruri'iro Kujaku really been destroyed? In gaining the victory, had he sacrificed himself?

Hoozukimaru needed to know. It was time to interrupt his master's private misery. Time to let him know he was not the only one suffering.

Ikkaku sat under the barren branches of a Kagata tree in the garden outside the Fourth Squad barracks where the infirmary was located. He'd not been permitted inside the room during treatment, and he'd made it abundantly clear to everyone that he desired no company as he waited.

Even so, Captain Unohana had tasked one of her underlings, Hanataro Yamada, with keeping an eye on him from afar. She had seen the distress he'd tried so hard to keep under wraps, and she was not fooled into thinking he was as stoic as he was now portraying.

In truth, no one was fooled. Ikkaku did not imagine they were. He'd noticed the diminutive Hanataro watching him subtly from across the garden, and he could not fault Unohana for her concern. As long as no one approached him, he would be fine. He wanted no platitudes, no sympathy, no consolation. He could not bear the thought of someone attempting to sooth his guilty conscience. After all, who else should he blame but himself for the things that had happened? He'd been nothing but trouble for Yumichika since the first moment of their acquaintance. Wasn't this the most likely conclusion?

Anger flared inside him. But it was more than anger. It was a hatred directed towards himself, directed at his failures – and he'd had many. But this failure was perhaps the greatest of them all: Yumichika was the one person he most cared about, and he hadn't even had the moral courage to stand by him until it was too late.

"So, what's different about that?" he mumbled to himself. "You were never there when he needed you, no matter how many times you swore to protect him."

He rubbed his hands wearily over his scalp. He'd taken a beating himself, but he had waved off treatment. Captain Unohana had suggested an examination, but seeing Ikkaku's agitation, she had decided it would be more conducive to everyone's peace-of-mind to postpone the exam.

Ikkaku stood up, went to the lily pond and splashed some icy water on his face. The sight of the stems stretching away beneath the water's surface immediately recalled Ruri'iro Kujaku to his mind.

"Why did you have to come between us?" he asked aloud. "How could I ever compete with something like you? And now you're gone, and he's—he's not going to want to live without you."

It was such a painful admission that Ikkaku felt physically assaulted by it.

And it was also a cowardly accusation, for he knew that Ruri'iro Kujaku had not come between him and Yumichika. _He_ had come between Yumichika and Ruri'iro Kujaku. His own stubborn rejection of kido had set the whole thing in motion.

Yumichika's reasons for keeping his true nature hidden were perfectly understandable in light of Ikkaku's behavior.

"Master."

Ikkaku startled. Turning, he saw Hoozukimaru standing behind him; but he didn't have the strength to be angry about the dragon manifesting on his own.

"Yeah?" he asked dully.

"I can't sense Ruri'iro Kujaku anymore," Hoozukimaru said.

Ikkaku was subdued. "I can barely sense Yumichika."

"Master, if I could go to his inner world—"

"Go."

"I can't if you're still blocking me."

Ikkaku frown disinterestedly. "I'm not blocking you. I told you, it isn't me."

"But then who is?!"

Ikkaku shrugged. "I don't know." His manner, his voice, his expression . . . they were all lifeless.

It occurred to Hoozukimaru just how dreadful the situation must be for his master.

So many years of hiding from the truth, so many years of contorting his emotions in order to avoid any enduring attachment . . . and now that he was ready to accept that attachment, it was too late.

"Madarame-san?"

Ikkaku looked past Hoozukimaru as Lieutenant Isane Kotetsu approached.

Isane spared Hoozukimaru only a passing glance before addressing Ikkaku. "Captain Unohana would like to see you."

Ikkaku nodded. "Hoozukimaru, return."

The dragon complied.

Ikkaku followed Isane to the infirmary. Captain Unohana met them in the hallway outside the examination room, and after dismissing Isane, she looked at Ikkaku with an unreadable expression. She did not speak right away, which made Ikkaku fear the worst. But just as he was about to inquire, she began.

"He's very ill. We've been able to stop the bleeding where he was pierced, but he's lost so much reiatsu that there's very little we can do for him. We're attempting to give him an infusion, but just as in the past, his body is rejecting most of it. We have to see if he can replenish his own reiatsu."

Ikkaku absorbed this in silence. Nothing Unohana had said was unexpected. He'd seen first-hand how many times Yumichika had been attacked by the creature, so he knew that his spirit energy had been greatly depleted. But if even a sliver of spirit energy remained, Ikkaku held out the hope that Yumichika would survive. And if the infusion was being rejected, could it not be Ruri'iro Kujaku that was rejecting it?

"Do you—do you think he can? Replenish his own, I mean."

"I can't say. He's done it before, but he's lost so much this time. And it would appear that in the past, it was Ruri'iro Kujaku who healed and sustained him."

"Are you able to detect anything of Ruri'iro Kujaku?" Ikkaku asked.

"No," Unohana replied. "And still only the hilt remains. It's in the room with him. The blade has not restored itself."

Ikkaku was silent for a moment before asking, "Can I see him?"

"In a minute," Unohana replied, then asked, "What happened to him?"

Ikkaku was puzzled. He'd already told her everything about the battle on the way back from Mito. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"He's thin as a reed. He's covered with bruises that he didn't get today. And I can barely recognize what little reiatsu he has left. What happened to him after he left the Seireitei, Madarame-san?"

Ikkaku hesitated. How was he to answer? With the truth? Would Yumichika appreciate him telling the story of how he'd been living these past months? Or was a lie any better? Unohana would see through a lie instantly. He dared not incur her wrath. But he also could not divulge Yumichika's secrets.

"The village where he was staying . . . " he began, choosing his words carefully. "The people there—some of them—they did it to him."

Unohana looked surprised. "The villagers?"

Ikkaku nodded, looking aside and wishing the topic would just go away.

Unohana's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"It was . . . it was just something they . . . they liked to do," Ikkaku stumbled through the words. "I don't—"

"Madarame-san." Her voice had a way of forcing out unspoken words.

"Because they're sick!" Ikkaku burst out, his voice quaking with emotion. "They wanted to hurt him—they liked hurting him! And he let them. It's always been that way."

Unohana regarded him without speaking. She'd struck a nerve, and she knew if she were patient, she would get more of the story.

At length, Ikkaku leaned heavily against the wall. "I didn't think he'd go back to them, that he'd go back to—to that life."

"That life?"

Ikkaku raised his eyes to hers. "I can't say anything else, Captain. Please don't ask me."

Captain Unohana was firm. "I can tell what they were doing to him from examining him, Madarame-san. Are you telling me he was a prostitute?"

Ikkaku felt he might be sick. "No, no," he groaned. "He wasn't a prostitute. He—back then he did it only when he wanted to. It was his own form of barter. But then they began . . . they used him whenever they wanted to. Everything got out of control. That's why—that's why we left Mito."

Unohana nodded. "I see." She paused. That was as much explanation as she needed. She moved on to her assessment of his injuries. "The old bruises aren't healing, and that worries me. His reiatsu is so faint that I'm afraid he's not even capable of fighting off the trauma to his body, much less restore his reiatsu."

"But he's alive, and that means he _can_ fight," Ikkaku insisted.

"If he wants to," Unohana added gravely.

"Do you—do you . . . think he doesn't want to?" Ikkaku asked guardedly, as if he feared the answer.

"We'll find that out in the next few days," she replied. "Come, you can see him now. He's been moved to intensive care." She led the way down the corridor, which was buzzing with activity after the attack, but Ikkaku hardly noticed them. His thoughts were racing. As anxious as he was to see Yumichika, he was also terrified. There seemed to be little hope of Yumichika's survival, and he wasn't sure he had the courage to stand vigil by the side of a dying man.

They came to the room. Unohana motioned for him to go in first.

Ikkaku steeled himself and went inside.

Yumichika lay in the room's only bed. There were half a dozen nurses and technicians setting up monitors, but it did not look as daunting as Ikkaku had imagined.

Still, he would not go closer. It took Unohana's hand in the middle of his back to propel him forward.

He stood unmoving beside the bed, his eyes fixed on Yumichika's face. He did not even notice when the attendants departed, Unohana following them out and closing the door behind them.

The past was closing in fast on him. He'd been in this situation before - this state of wondering whether Yumichika would live or die, and having himself to blame for it. It made him forget that there had ever been good times.

There was a chair in the corner. He pulled it up to the bed and sat down. Then he allowed himself a closer look.

Strangely enough, it didn't look that bad. Ikkaku had seen him look much worse.

He was covered with sheets and blankets up to his shoulders. Only a small glimpse of the bandages peeked out above the covers. The old bruises on his shoulder remained, in stark contrast to the white bandages. The welt on his neck, caused by the creature's tentacles, had healed somewhat in Minazuki's belly but was still visible. His left arm rested atop the covers and trailed a handful of wires and tubes.

No, it really didn't look bad at all.

But it was. Ikkaku knew that. And now he was forced to do something he didn't do well: wait.

For the first time, he began to wish he had a god. If he had, he might have prayed. He recalled to mind his flippancy in the face of an enemy many years ago. He had scoffed at the very idea of a god. After all, he was a Shinigami, often referred to as Death Gods. A god didn't need another god – certainly not to worship or to ask for help.

And yet, Ikkaku could not suppress the urge to do just that.

"Don't let him die," he whispered. "I'll do anything. Just don't let him die."

There was no answer. He didn't even know if his supplication had been heard, but that did not matter. He had spoken the first words, and now more came.

"He may have made some mistakes, but this is my fault, not his. After all he's been through . . . can't you help him just this once?"

If there was an art to praying, Ikkaku did not know it. His worry and self-recrimination gave his plea the inflection of a demand. He knew it and it added to his misery. At last, he sunk his head into his hands. "Please . . . don't take him away from me."

* * *

"It's been three days since the battle, and we haven't detected any more incursions," Captain Kurotsuchi reported.

"Maybe Ayasegawa really did destroy them," Captain Ukitake stated.

Genyrusai Yamamoto was not as easily convinced, and neither was Kurotsuchi, who pointed out, "All that spirit energy could not simply be snuffed out of existence just like that. And since we know that Ayasegawa's zanpakuto was the one that defeated the demon, then it stands to reason that Ayasegawa's zanpakuto now contains all that energy."

"But Ruri'iro Kujaku was destroyed in the battle," Captain Kyoraku reminded them.

"A zanpakuto cannot die before its master," Kurotsuchi countered.

Shunsui had no reason to believe that was an accurate statement anymore – not after the whole thing with Muramasa. "All that's left is the hilt. The blade is gone. And considering the condition Ayasegawa is in, I can't . . . even if Ruri'iro Kujaku isn't destroyed, I don't see how he'd be able to return."

Yamamoto pondered in silence for several seconds, then he asked, "Captain Soifon, has there been any progress in locating Heykibi?"

Soifon felt guilty with her answer. "No, Sir. I've sent patrols out, and Squad Twelve has been scanning for his signature. It would appear he is nowhere in Soul Society."

Kurotsuchi picked up. "Which leads us to believe he has either gone to the living world or is hiding in the precipice world."

"Or he's altered his signature," Juushiro put forth. "He's very clever."

"And apparently has a lot more skills than any of us ever knew about," Shunsui added.

Again, the head captain considered for a moment before returning to the subject of Ruri'iro Kujaku. "Where is the hilt now?"

It was Captain Kyoraku who answered. "In Ayasegawa's hospital room."

"And is Madarame with Ayasegawa?" Yamamoto asked unnecessarily. He already knew the only possible answer.

"Yes," Shunsui replied.

"Shunsui, go tell Madarame I wish to see him. He is to come right away," Yamamoto ordered. "The rest of you, continue your taskings. Finding Heykibi remains the top priority."

As they walked out, Juushiro and Shunsui fell in step side-by-side.

"Do you think you'll be able to pry Madarame away from Ayasegawa's side?" Juushiro asked.

"I guess we'll find out," Shunsui replied.

* * *

"It's been three days, Madarame-san. You should really go get some rest. We'll let you know immediately if there's any change."

Ikkaku glanced up at Lieutenant Kotetsu. "I'll be okay," he replied.

"There's nothing you can do here, and you look exhausted. You really need to get some rest," she persisted gently.

"I'm not leaving."

"It's okay, Isane." This was Unohana's voice. "If he wants to stay, let him. It's better for Ayasegawa if he stays."

"Yes, ma'am." Then in a low voice. "It's just that the nursing staff were getting worried."

"I'm sure," Unohana replied, making it clear in her voice that she understood a "worried" nursing staff really meant that Ikkaku's gruff manner was irritating to them.

She walked over to the bed, scanned the monitors and made a cursory physical exam. Her face still wore that imperturbable neutrality.

But her words contained the emotion that her face did not.

"His numbers are still falling. He's continuing to lose reiatsu. Nothing we've done has been able to stop it." For a brief moment, a flash of sadness showed in her eye. "He just isn't trying."

Ikkaku was silent.

Unohana put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm glad you've stayed with him. You're the only reason he'd come back. If you can somehow get through to him, make him aware that you're here, that might persuade him to fight." With that, she left.

Ikkaku thought she could not be more wrong, but he nodded along anyway. He'd been there the whole time and it hadn't made a bit of difference. Other Soul Reapers had come by – Hisagi, Kira, Captain Hitsugaya, Renji and some others – but their presence had also been of no avail. Unfortunately, the one Soul Reaper whose presence might have helped had not come by. Captain Zaraki had remained conspicuously absent – as well as Lieutenant Kusajishi. It angered Ikkaku on the one hand to think that his captain did not have the decency to at least come see how Yumichika was doing. But his absence was honest. He'd written off Yumichika as a squad member the moment he'd learned of Ruri'iro Kujaku's power. For him to show up now and express concern would have been hypocritical.

Almost immediately after Unohana had departed, the door opened again. Rangiku stepped inside. She walked straight over to the bed with purposeful strides. It was the first time she'd come by to see Yumichika, for she'd been assigned to help oversee the cleanup after the last attack, and now she acted as if Ikkaku were not even present.

She stood looking down at Yumichika with an odd combination of maternal chastisement and forlorn resignation. Then she did what no other visitor had dared: she reached out and gently touched his cheek with her fingertips.

"You fool," she said softly, then to Ikkaku, "How is he?"

Ikkaku's voice was dull. He could not meet her eyes. He was afraid she would see into his soul. "Not good. He's still losing reiatsu, and they can't stop it." He paused. "Even if he does recover, he'll never want to see me again."

Matsumoto regarded him with a disgusted look. "So, this is still about you."

Ikkaku startled. "What?"

"You're worried about how he'll feel about you if he recovers," Matsumoto charged, "when you should only be concerned with him surviving. Well, you don't need to worry. He'd never hate you, Ikkaku – no matter how you treat him. You're too important to him, though I don't know why."

"You don't know him like I do, Rangiku," Ikkaku shot back. "He's always counted on me, and I've always let him down. I promised myself – and him – that I would never let him be hurt again, that I would never leave him. All I did was prove myself a liar. And this time, I shut him out completely. He has no reason to trust me or to even want to see me." A sound of anguish escaped him. "Don't you get it? When Zaraki kicked him out of the squad, he turned to me but I turned him away. He tried to go back to his old life, but that wasn't there for him anymore either. And now Ruri'iro Kujaku's gone. Don't you see? He's not fighting for his life because he has no life to go back to. No _person _to go back to. And it's all because of me."

Rangiku was not moved. "You are such an idiot," she scolded. "After all these years, you really don't know him at all, do you?"

"Don't try to tell me about Yumichika, Rangiku," Ikkaku warned. "No one knows him better than I do." He stopped abruptly as a spasm rattled his throat. He was not going to give in to an emotional display. "He's the only reason I'm still alive."

"I believe you," Rangiku replied.

"For most of my life, here and in the living world, I hated almost everyone and everything. I had no faith in humans, and I figured Soul Society would be no different, since it was filled with human souls." He still could not look at her. "Then I met Yumichika, and . . . " A faint smile at some fond remembrance lightened his face for a moment. "He drove me nuts, but he—he restored my trust. I knew he'd always be there. He'd never abandon me." The smile faded. "I abandoned him. Now, it's too late. He'll never know."

Matsumoto looked at him curiously. "Never know?"

Ikkaku rubbed his face with his hands. "I was on my way back to see Captain Zaraki when the attack came. I was going to tell him that I was leaving the Gotei 13, that Yumichika needed me, and I was going back to him."

Matsumoto regarded him evenly. "I'm surprised it took you this long to come to that decision."

"Don't be," Ikkaku frowned. "I always thought it was Captain Zaraki who'd given me purpose, but . . . how stupid I was! When I think of what my life was like before I met Yumichika . . . how could I have been such an idiot?" He paused and when spoke again, it was in a voice made weary from worrying. "It seems like, no matter what my intentions, I've always just ended up hurting him."

"What are you talking about?" Rangiku asked.

"I think—I think he'd have been better off without me," Ikkaku revealed.

"He was totally devoted to you, Ikkaku," Rangiku disagreed. "I don't think he would have traded your friendship for anything in Soul Society."

"You don't know," Ikkaku sighed. "You don't know what his life was like before we came here, Rangiku."

She sat down beside him. "Then tell me."

For the next hour, Ikkaku related a tale he had never told anyone else before. He had never spoken of how he and Yumichika had met. He had never revealed all that had transpired between them.

When he had finished, Matsumoto sat speechless for a long time, then she finally said in a quiet voice, "I never knew any of that."

"He didn't want anyone to know about his past," Ikkaku explained.

"I can see why." A pause. "If only I had known."

"There was no way for you to know. You weren't there when it all happened, and like I said, he didn't want anyone to know."

Rangiku stood up and paced in agitation. "You don't understand, Ikkaku. I could have stopped him before he ever got started."

"How could you have—" Ikkaku stopped abruptly, the realization dawning on him. His eyes grew wide in disbelief. "It was you. You were the Soul Reaper who brought him here."

Rangiku nodded in silence.

"But why—why didn't either of you say anything? Why didn't you tell me?" Ikkaku demanded.

"Because it was our secret," Rangiku replied. "It was something special just between the two of us. It was . . . fun. It was fun to know that we had something known only to us and not to anyone else."

"So, he was keeping two secrets." Ikkaku sounded hurt.

"He was keeping a lot more than two secrets, Ikkaku," Rangiku reminded him. "Everything you just told me . . . those were all secrets."

"Why didn't you ever go check up on him? You dropped him off here and left him to fend for himself! He didn't know how to live on his own—"

"I left him where he needed to be," she replied. "Ikkaku, he was so afraid to come to Soul Society that I actually had to accompany him here. I couldn't send him with just a hell butterfly, and it was important that he not be around anyone else until he came to terms with the fact that he was . . . no longer . . . deformed."

"I understand that," Ikkaku sighed, the ire draining from him, leaving him tired and drawn. "It's just that he—he didn't know how to handle his . . . his new appearance."

"So it seems," Rangiku agreed. "I didn't think he would ever be anything but the shy, fearful boy I found under the bridge that day." A faint smile appeared on her face. "You can imagine my surprise when I met him so many years later here in the Seireitei. He was so much changed. I would never have guessed at any of the things you just told me."

Ikkaku did not look at her. "He wouldn't be happy with me for telling you."

"I guess we were all being deceitful in one way or another," Rangiku concluded.

There was a single knock on the door before it opened, admitting Captain Kyoraku.

"Mind if I come in?"

Ikkaku inclined his head.

Shunsui walked over to the bed. Immediately, he was stunned by how nearly imperceptible Ayasegawa's reiatsu was.

"How's he doing?" he asked, although it was only to make conversation. Captain Unohana had already told him before he'd come to the room that Yumichika was not doing well and unlikely to survive to the end of the week, which was only three days away.

"Not good," Ikkaku answered.

A brief silence followed, then Shunsui spoke again.

"How are you holding up, Ikkaku?"

Ikkaku shrugged. "Okay, I guess."

"You look exhausted," Rangiku observed. "Maybe you should try to get some rest. I'll stay here with him."

"I'm not leaving," Ikkaku stated, ready to make the argument once again.

But when Captain Kyoraku spoke up, he was not making an offer, but rather relaying a directive.

"You'll need to leave for a little bit," he said. "The old man wants to see you."

This news did not even perk Ikkaku's attention. "I don't want to leave here. You can—you can make an excuse for me, can't you, Captain Kyoraku?"

"Not this time," Shunsui replied. "He wants to see you right away. Come on. I'll go with you. Maybe he's got some information that will help."

Still, Ikkaku resisted. "I don't want to go. What if I leave, and . . . and . . . "

Rangiku jumped in. "If he starts to get worse, I'll come get you myself."

"Come on, Ikkaku," Shunsui pressed. "We shouldn't keep the old man waiting."

Captain Kyoraku went with Ikkaku as far as the threshold into Captain Yamamoto's private offices, and Ikkaku was too melancholy to argue with him over his departure.

Instead, he followed Lieutenant Sasakibe inside and stood before the head captain's desk as the second-in-command vacated the room, leaving just Ikkaku and the commander.

Ikkaku said nothing. He hoped that the fewer words he said, the sooner this would be over and he could head back to the infirmary.

Apparently, Captain Yamamoto had the same idea, for he did not even inquire after Yumichika before going straight to the purpose for which he had summoned Ikkaku.

"Call upon your zanpakuto to manifest."

Ikkaku was admittedly taken aback, but he did as he was told.

A moment later, Hoozukimaru stood beside him.

"Hoozukimaru." Yamamoto's voice was deep and steady, commanding. He knew this zanpakuto well enough to know that the dragon respected authority only when that authority acted as such. Soft, squishy imploring held no weight with the dragon. And even when bearing the full breadth of his position, Yamamoto knew it would still be struggle.

Hoozukimaru waited expectantly, yet he was careful not to appear defiant. The truth was that if he hoped to get assistance in finding out what had happened to Ruri'iro Kujaku, he would most likely need the head captain's assistance – or at least his support.

"I understand you're able to enter Ruri'iro Kujaku's world," Yamamoto stated.

"I was," Hoozukimaru replied. "But I haven't been able to enter it over the past eight months."

"But you went there often."

"Pretty often."

"There was a shrine," Yamamoto said.

Hoozukimaru narrowed his eyes, wondering how Yamamoto knew such a detail.

Seeing that the dragon was not ready to confirm the assertion, the head captain went on. "Ayasegawa told one of the other captains that there was a shrine. Did you ever see it when you went there?"

After several seconds' consideration, Hoozukimaru gave a single nod. "Ai-yup."

"What did it look like inside?"

Hoozukimaru thought about how to answer this one, opting for full disclosure. "When I first started going there, it was very plain. But then one day, Flashy—Ruri'iro Kujaku showed me how it appears to him, and after that, that's how I always saw it."

"How did it appear to him?" Yamamoto pressed.

"Why are you asking me these questions?" Hoozukimaru asked. "What is it you really want to know?"

Ikkaku cast a warning glare at his zanpakuto, but it went largely ignored.

Hoozukimaru continued with his own questions. "Do you know if Ruri'iro Kujaku is still alive? That's all I care about, because if he is, I'm going to find him."

"I did not tell your master to call you here so that I might answer your questions," Yamamoto replied.

"Then I see no need to answer yours—" Hoozukimaru began until Ikkaku held up his hand to silence him.

"Don't be insubordinate," he warned his zanpakuto.

Hoozukimaru grit his teeth and was silent.

"Now, tell me how the shrine appeared," Yamamoto repeated.

Still, Hoozukimaru hesitated. He had never told anyone, not even his own master, about the shrine. "I don't think Ruri'iro Kujaku would want me to tell anyone—"

"If there is any chance that Ruri'iro Kujaku still exists, surely he is in need of help," the head captain said with calm force. "And in order to help him, I need to know the nature of his power."

"I thought everyone knew by now that it's kido—" Hoozukimaru began flippantly, but the captain commander was having none of that.

"Are you going to tell me that simple kido was all you saw in Ruri'iro Kujaku's world?" he challenged.

Hoozukimaru fell abruptly silent.

Even Ikkaku recognized that some truth had been touched upon.

Yamamoto asked one last time. "What did you see in the shrine?"

Hoozukimaru looked at his master. Could things be made any worse if he revealed what he had seen? The situation was already critical.

Ikkaku gave a minute nod, encouraging him to speak.

"All the walls and the floor and the ceiling were covered with images," he began.

"What kind of images?" Captain Yamamoto asked.

"They were . . . scenes of different places, with animals and trees and streams, all kinds of things you'd find in nature," Hoozukimaru began. "There were different scenes on three of the walls, and all that changed was the seasons and the animals in the scenes—"

"What were they scenes of?"

"One was a forest, one was a field, the other one was a shoreline," Hoozukimaru replied. "And the ceiling was all sky, and the floor was just a . . . a mixture of animals and plants, but no real scene." He paused. "There was a throne, and the wall behind the throne was the strangest one. The scene on that wall changed, depending on what Ruri'iro Kujaku wanted to see."

Ikkaku listened, flabbergasted.

"What else?" Yamamoto asked.

"When he would walk nearby . . . the images would come to life." The dragon sounded almost embarrassed to relate such a fantastic and incredible idea.

"What do you mean, come to life?" Yamamoto asked, but it was clear he was only fishing to confirm something he already suspected.

"I mean _come to life_. If there was an image of a fox on the wall, when Flashy walked by, it would come to life. It would start moving and breathing and . . . living," Hoozukimaru explained. "It couldn't come out of the wall. None of the images in the wall could come out, but he . . . he could go in. And he could bring others in with him, as well." A pause. "Or, at least he could bring me. But I didn't like to go. There was something . . . I don't know how to describe it. Entering the walls was like . . . being inside him, being completely surrounded by him."

Yamamoto absorbed this for a moment. At length, he posed, "You said there was a throne."

"A peacock-shaped throne," Hoozukimaru nodded.

"Did you ever see him sit in it?" Yamamoto asked, and both Hoozukimaru and Ikkaku could tell that the answer to that question was something the head captain was anxiously awaiting.

"No," Hoozukimaru replied. "He couldn't sit in it. He said every time he tried, it repelled him."

Yamamoto's relief was palpable, even though his exterior betrayed no emotion. "What else did you see?" he asked.

"There was a flower mosaic, like the vines he uses," Hoozukimaru answered. After a pause, he added, "As things got worse between him and Ayasegawa, he spent more and more time in the wall scenes. They made him happy. And as the rest of his world starting growing dark and gray, the shrine stayed brilliant and colorful."

Yamamoto looked down his long nose at some far distant memory.

"You've seen him heal?" he asked.

Hoozukimaru nodded. "A few times."

"So have I," Ikkaku added.

The head captain looked from one to the other with an intensity that was stifling.

"Have you seen him do anything . . . more than heal?"

Both Ikkaku and Hoozukimaru were puzzled.

"More than heal?" Ikkaku asked.

Yamamoto's silence confirmed that Ikkaku had correctly understood the question.

At last, Ikkaku stammered, "I've seen him seduce. Or I've seen Yumichika seduce, and use Ruri'iro Kujaku to . . . to increase the—the potency of the—of the—"

"I am not talking about seduction," Yamamoto cut him off, for which Ikkaku was grateful. "We all know that Ayasegawa carries a seductive reiatsu."

"It's not just his reiatsu," Hoozukimaru put forth. "It's his power. Everything about Ayasegawa—and by extension, Ruri'iro Kujaku—was based on their ability to take."

"Explain," Yamamoto ordered.

Even Ikkaku was anxious to hear what his zanpakuto had to say about such a provocative claim.

"They could seduce anyone they wanted, taking away a person's ability to resist," he said. "They could strip away a man's will. Or a zanpakuto's will," he added as an admission of sorts. "They could drain away every last bit of inhibition. It was all a form of taking, and only a small hint at what they could really do, which was to siphon away spirit energy, to suck it dry, whether from a human soul, an animal soul, or the spirit particles in these walls." He drew in a deep breath, as if he could not find enough air to put the power behind his words. "And Ruri'iro Kujaku had no limit to what he could absorb. That's why—that's why I refuse to believe that he was destroyed in that battle. If he really did absorb all that spirit energy, it would have only made him stronger."

Yamamoto ignored Hoozukimaru's stated concern. In truth, he was astounded at just how close to the mark the dragon was, regarding the nature of Ruri'iro Kujaku's power. Surprisingly, this sparked a tiny flame of affection within him for the simple-minded dragon.

"If Ruri'iro Kujaku's method of combat is solely to absorb his opponent's energy, what do you suppose would warrant him to expend that energy?" Yamamoto asked in a leading manner.

Hoozukimaru shrugged. "I suppose he has to expend it while he's fighting, while he's getting into a position where he can drain his opponent's reiatsu."

"But surely, that would only use a small portion of what he's amassed over the decades," Yamamoto prompted.

"Probably," Hoozukimaru agreed. "His . . . his store of reiatsu appears as water, and over the years, his world has turned into one big flood—" He cut off abruptly as a thought occurred to him that had not once entered his head in all the years he'd been visiting Ruri'iro Kujaku's world. But it occurred to him now, and he would give voice to it. "He also has—there's an ocean in his world that only he can cross. It's always in darkness. You can barely see it, but you can hear it crashing against the shore. I don't know how big it is, but I think it must be massive." A pause. "It's always been there, since I was first able to contact him. Do you think—could that be more spirit energy?"

Yamamoto was convinced it was much more than that, but he would not divulge his suspicions – not to these two, at least.

"It's possible," was all he would allow, then turning to Ikkaku, he asked, "Ayasegawa never achieved bankai, did he?"

Ikkaku shook his head. "Not that I know of." He hesitated, then spoke respectfully. "Captain Yamamoto, you're asking a lot of questions. What is it you suspect?"

Yamamoto frowned. "I suspect we have missed a great opportunity. And now we must deal with the consequences."

"But . . . what opportunity? What consequences?" Ikkaku asked.

"It's a waste of time to talk about what could have been," Yamamoto replied. "As for what will come of the current situation . . . that remains to be seen. You may go."

"But—but what about Yumichika—" Ikkaku began, but Captain Yamamoto had already turned towards the door.

He opened it to let them out, then as they departed, he turned to Lieutenant Sasakibe.

"Send for Captains Kyoraku and Ukitake."


	8. Chapter 8

_**Dear Reader, This is a difficult chapter, but I hope you like it. I'm sorry to make Yamamoto the fall guy for bone-headed decisions, but it just seems to me that the leadership in Soul Society is not only inept but also in the habit of making snap judgments that are rarely based on the circumstances. For those of you who wanted to see Yachiru, of course, I didn't leave her out! She makes her appearance in this chapter and in doing so, answers one of the unsolved mysteries. Also, we learn a little bit more about Atmens. Lastly, I have always liked Unohana as the calm voice of reason and insight, as you will see. Happy reading! Peace, TK**_

Chapter 8 The Azure Peacock

"_Where do you go to from here?  
__Is there a voice that you're longing to hear?  
__Is there a truth that drives you out?  
__Is there a fear? Is there a doubt?  
__You know there's one thing you can't live without.  
__Eternal love_."

_Eternal Love  
_Justin Hayward

No sooner had they left the head captain's office than the conversation began.

"Why do you think he was asking all those questions?" Ikkaku posed interiorly to Hoozukimaru, who had returned to his inner world. "He was more concerned with Ruri'iro Kujaku than Yumichika."

"He clearly suspects that Flashy has some kind of power that needs to be controlled," Hoozukimaru replied, and then with subdued excitement, he added, "And he must think Flashy is still alive, or he wouldn't be so concerned."

"I don't see how he can still be alive," Ikkaku said doubtfully. "He was destroyed when he killed the demon. You saw what happened. When the demon contracted and disappeared, there was no sign of Ruri'iro Kujaku. How could he have survived?"

"I don't know, but I hope the old man is right," Hoozukimaru said. "I won't rest until I know for sure."

Ikkaku took this precisely as it was meant: an indication that Hoozukimaru intended to search for Ruri'iro Kujaku with or without his master's consent. And Ikkaku felt no contention over it. In fact, he would not only give his consent; he would accompany him.

They continued on in silence the rest of the way back to the infirmary.

When Ikkaku entered Yumichika's room, he stopped abruptly. The sight that met his eyes was something he had not expected.

Lieutenant Kusajishi lay beside Yumichika, much as a child would snuggle up to a parent. Her tiny hand rested on top of his arm, her head nestled against his shoulder.

She did not regard Ikkaku as he entered. Her eyes had a distant, sorrowful expression in them that seemed out-of-place for such a cherubic face. Even the pink in her cheeks appeared to have dulled.

"He's going away," she said softly. "I can't feel him anymore." There was a long pause, then her voice broke as she spoke again. "I don't want him to go away."

Ikkaku came closer but was silent.

"Baldy . . . can't you make him stay?"

"I can't," he whispered in reply. "I've tried, but he—he doesn't hear me."

Yachiru clutched tighter at Yumichika's arm. "I'm sorry."

Ikkaku didn't know if she were speaking to him or Yumichika.

"We're all sorry, lieutenant," he said. "This whole thing never should have happened."

"I'm the one who told Kenny."

At first, Ikkaku was not sure what she was talking about, then it hit him. He was speechless for a long time, wondering how it could be possible. When, at last, he found his voice, it was shaking – not with anger but with some other emotion that he could not identify.

"But how did you know?"

"When he left the fight that day, I saw the demon follow him, and I was worried. I didn't want him to face the enemy alone, so I went after him," she replied. "I saw the whole thing. I even saw you watching from the top of the hill."

Ikkaku was stunned. "You saw everything?"

She nodded her nestled head. "I couldn't believe it was Weirdo I was watching," she said, using her nickname for Yumichika. It was the only name she ever used for him. "He was so powerful."

"Why did you tell the captain?" Ikkaku asked.

"I thought he should know," she replied. "I didn't think he'd be that mean, not to someone he liked."

"But you knew the rules about kido," Ikkaku pressed. "You had to have known what would happen."

"My first duty is always to Kenny." Her words had the sound of a lament. "But I didn't want Weirdo to get hurt. I didn't want him to get kicked out. I don't want him to die." She turned her large amber eyes to regard Ikkaku plaintively. "You're the only one who can make him stay."

Ikkaku sighed and looked away. "You're wrong, Lieutenant. The only one who could have made him stay was Ruri'iro Kujaku. And he's gone. He was destroyed in the battle."

A long silence ensured, followed by Yachiru's voice, small and despairing. "Maybe if I hold him tight enough, he won't be able to go away."

"I don't think anything can stop that now," Ikkaku replied. It was the first time he had admitted to himself that the situation was beyond hope.

Yumichika was going to die.

* * *

When Captains Kyoraku and Ukitake arrived in the head captain's office, it was to find Captain Unohana already there. She was standing on the opposite side of the desk at which the head captain was sitting, her expression grave and imperturbable.

"You sent for us, Head Captain," Juushiro said as they approached and stood beside Captain Unohana.

"We have an urgent situation," Yamamoto began directly. One would never be able to judge from his tone of voice that there was any urgency at hand. He nodded at Captain Unohana, who turned to face her fellow captains as she spoke.

"It is unlikely that Ayasegawa will survive the next two days," she announced. "His reiatsu continues to fade, and he's not replenishing even the smallest bit of it. His body is completely rejecting every attempt we make at an infusion."

Both Shunsui and Juushiro said nothing. They knew the implications of her statement.

Captain Yamamoto picked it up from there. "Since I find it inconceivable that Ayasegawa's zanpakuto was destroyed, we must proceed on the presumption that it is still in existence and out there somewhere eluding our ability to detect it."

Juushiro was puzzled. "But why would Ruri'iro Kujaku feel the need to hide? Especially when Ayasegawa is so near death?"

Shunsui spoke. "Maybe he's not hiding. Maybe something happened to him when he defeated the demon, and he can't come forth."

"We all know of the animosity between Ayasegawa and his zanpakuto," Yamamoto pointed out. "What reason would the weapon have to come back and save Ayasegawa's life at this point? The Azure Peacock is an Atmen, and you know an Atmen can outlive its Shinigami. The only thing that can destroy it is if it expends all its energy. I have not sensed such an outlay of reiatsu that would account for the weapon's destruction."

Unohana's voice was soft. "And we know that, in the past, it's taken great effort and cost a lot of lives to force an Atmen to use all of its energy."

"But not all Atmen have spiraled out of control after the death of their master—" Juushiro began, but Shunsui cut him off.

"You're right. Some lost control while their masters were still alive," he pointed out. He sighed heavily. "And from what you told me, it's a miracle that Ayasegawa managed to keep the lid on his for as long as he did."

Juushiro demurred. "I don't believe that Ruri'iro Kujaku would have ever defied Ayasegawa to the point of rebellion. Even when Muramasa provided all the zanpakuto with the chance to kill their masters, the one zanpakuto who could have done it easily was Ruri'iro Kujaku. He chose not to. With his power, it had to have been a conscious decision. And don't forget: Ruri'iro Kujaku risked his life to save Ayasegawa during the battle. I don't think that is the action of an entity searching for freedom."

"But it _is_ the action of a zanpakuto that doesn't know it's an Atmen," Captain Yamamoto stated. "A zanpakuto will move heaven and earth to save its master, knowing its own existence depends on its master's existence. An Atmen knows it can let its master die, and it will continue to live. From what I learned speaking to Madarame's zanpakuto, I surmise that Ruri'iro Kujaku is unaware of his Atmen powers. He has amassed vast amounts of spirit energy, so much so that, according to Hoozukimaru, his world is overflowing with it. That means he has spent very little of that energy." A pause. "He has a throne, but he can't touch it."

"So . . . he hasn't learned how to restore," Juushiro concluded.

"Or create," Unohana added.

"And he must not learn how to do either," Yamamoto said emphatically. "An Atmen without a master must never be permitted to restore or create again, or we will collapse back into the same chaos as in the black ages. A master-less Atmen is dangerous enough, but add to that the fact that our head sword smith was able to deceive us for so long in his possession of abilities we didn't even know about, and now, he is at large. If he were able to command an Atmen, combined with his own ability to generate reiatsu, we could be facing another protracted conflict." He paused and laced his fingers together on top of the table in a thoughtful manner. "The only hope I see in this entire situation is the environment of Ayasegawa's inner world and its shrine. Hoozukimaru said that the shrine's images were of scenes from nature. Animals and such."

"Well, that's certainly not as ominous as the last Atmen's shrine," Shunsui said. "Those were scenes straight out of hell."

"But nature is also the most unpredictable of all forces," Unohana pointed out.

"He must never realize his Atmen powers. Without Ayasegawa to control him, he must be neutralized," Yamamoto commanded. "He must be found and defeated."

"You mean . . . destroyed," Shunsui said, distaste bitter on his tongue.

"It may be impossible to destroy him at this point," Yamamoto replied. "He has probably acquired too much spirit energy to ever be forced to use it all. But if he can be forced to expend enough, we might be able to seal him."

Juushiro was not agreeable to this idea. "But why?" he demanded. "Surely, if Ruri'iro Kujaku had wanted to overpower Ayasegawa, he could have done it long ago."

"Not if he believed that he'd be destroyed too, if he killed his master," Shunsui supposed.

Unohana shook her head, astounded at their lack of insight.

"There is only one reason why Ruri'iro Kujaku has remained obedient all these years," she said. "All any of you ever saw was the contention between a master and his servant. You only looked with your eyes. What you missed, what held them together in the midst of so much hatred and anger, was the very last thing any one of us would have expected from an Atmen. He loved his master more than himself." She sighed. "An Atmen he may be, but he is not like any of the previous Atmen. He was in love with his master and did not want to be free."

A brief silence filled the room, before Yamamoto concluded their meeting.

"That may be true, but we can't afford to take any chances," he said. "An Atmen under the hand of its master can be an amazing gift. An Atmen left to its own devices has always led to disaster. Ruri'iro Kujaku must be dealt with. The first step is finding him. I am entrusting this to you three only. You may tell your lieutenants but no one else. Use whatever means you must in order to find him."

"If he's still alive," Shunsui said.

"He is still alive," Yamamoto replied with certainty.

"Do you not think it would help our search if we had Squad Twelve's technical assistance?" Unohana asked.

Yamamoto made a scoffing noise deep in his throat. "The last thing we need right now is for Captain Kurotsuchi to attempt to bring in an Atmen for experimentation. No, he must not know about it. That would hasten the destruction of us all."

"What should we do if we locate Ruri'iro Kujaku?" Juushiro asked.

"Depending on what we discover, I will formulate the options," Yamamoto replied. "But for now, the main goal is just to find him. You are all dismissed."

As they left the hall, Juushiro spoke first. "I don't like this. I don't like this at all."

Shunsui grinned. "Well, it won't be the first time we've disagreed with the old man."

"So, you also think the head captain is wrong?" Juushiro posed.

"I don't know if he's wrong or not," Shunsui replied. "He might end up being completely right about Ruri'iro Kujaku, but I just hate . . . I hate to condemn anyone without a fair trial, especially when they haven't done anything wrong that I can see. And who knows, maybe Ruri'iro Kujaku will turn out to be the exception to the rule. Maybe he won't lose control and start creating on his own."

"So, I guess we really do need to find him—_in order to protect him_," Juushiro said convincingly.

"I'm not hearing any of this, gentlemen," Unohana said.

"And we're not saying of it," Shunsui replied.

Retsu gave a curt nod. "I have to get back to the infirmary." A deep frown cast a shadow over her porcelain features. "I'm afraid it won't be long now. I want to be nearby when the time comes."

Both Shunsui and Juushiro knew what she was referring to.

Before she parted ways, she turned to them, "Madarame might need some company afterwards. It won't be good for him to be alone."

* * *

Incompetent, stupid . . . Soul Reapers!

They were absolutely incapable of healing his master! They'd already written him off for dead.

He'd seen it in Unohana's face, heard it in her voice every time she had come to check on Yumichika.

Madarame had been there most of the time, but he'd stepped away briefly; and when he had returned, he'd been just as dull and insipid as before, with no ideas how to help Yumichika. And now, along with the little lieutenant, he had resumed the bedside vigil.

It was infuriating! How could the accumulated knowledge of so many souls not be able to save his master?!

He had to find a way out of this place – and fast.

Ruri'iro Kujaku could never have imagined being trapped within his own shrine. Or, to be more precise, within one of its walls.

It was the wall behind the throne, and the scene was his master's room in the hospital, where he himself, in hilt form only, was located. But it was more than that. For the first time ever, one of the cages had materialized within the wall.

And he was trapped in it.

It was no mistake. He knew how it had happened. He had felt it in the last brief moment before pulling free from the hilt of his sword form.

His master had known what he was going to attempt, and in a desperate bid to stop him, fearing his destruction, he'd cried out with all the passion and horror the situation had warranted. It might have appeared he'd acted too late, but in truth, his moment of protest had saved Ruri'iro's life.

For in absorbing the demon's voluminous store of reiatsu, something had happened to the peacock that had never occurred before. The captured reiatsu had attempted to break free of the vines. In fact, enough of the vines had ruptured within the creature, that Ruri'iro Kujaku had taken substantial damage.

But the injuries were nowhere near enough to offset the amount of reiatsu he had absorbed. Even after the demon's physical destruction, the stolen reiatsu continued to fight for its freedom. Ruri'iro Kujaku was not completely clear on the events, for the moment the creature was destroyed, there had followed a terrible, frightening darkness. He thought he might have actually lost consciousness, for his next memory was opening his eyes to discover himself in the cage and in the wall. The scene was already that of his master's hospital room.

He'd felt terribly shaken upon waking. Not weak. Not injured. Just . . .

It was as if his entire body were tingling and pulsating with energy, and he had no way to regulate it. It was the massive amount of reiatsu he had absorbed in a single instant; he was sure of it. His body needed time to subdue and assimilate it, for it was still fighting against him. Clearly, some part of the demon's consciousness was still imbued into the reiatsu – something Ruri'iro Kujaku had never experienced before – and that consciousness continued to generate a struggle.

And yet, it could not prevail. Here, within the cage, its powers were limited, and no outside force could enter.

Yumichika had done the only thing he could in order to save his zanpakuto. He'd imprisoned him. In the face of certain death, he'd done the unthinkable. He'd put his zanpakuto's safety and survival first.

It was not lost on Ruri'iro Kujaku that such an act could only have sprung from the deepest level of affection. He might even call it love. Never would he have imagined that the cages could be, even for a single moment, a symbol of love.

And now, his master was dying, and he could not get out. And even if he could, did he have enough control of the energy swarming through his body that he would be able to function reasonably?

How he longed for Hoozukimaru's company and counsel. What he would have given to hear the dragon's voice once more.

But now it appeared he would die, along with his master, without ever having seen Hoozukimaru again.

"_Damn it! No! I will not just wait here for my own death! I won't wait here while my master dies! There has to be a way . . . " _

He knew of only one thing he could attempt. And if he failed, it would not matter, for he already stood in danger of losing his life. There was nothing more to be lost.

He had never tried it – not since his first captivity so long ago, and that attempt had been made out of terror.

He was much more powerful now and more in command of his wits. Maybe—just maybe—he could break free. If he could somehow harness the energy trapped with him inside the cage, as well as the floods of his own world, he might have enough to free himself.

But would that then leave him with enough to save his master?

He would take the chance. Sitting here would do nothing.

He stood in the center of the cage and closed his eyes, then he held his right arm out.

The sword with blade intact materialized. Now the question was whether or not the energy would be enough to break past the barrier.

"Sakikirue."

The blade morphed into the vines.

He released the energy slowly until the cage was filled with blue-green light and the bars began to vibrate. He released more.

And more.

"You cannot be stronger than me, master," he hissed through gritted teeth, although he knew otherwise. "You cannot be stronger!"

He released more.

The bars began to glow and lose some of their form.

Through the swirling light, Ruri'iro Kujaku could make out, beyond the hospital wall, the peacock throne and the vague interior of the shrine.

The energy now was not only being exuded from the vines, but it was emanating from his entire body.

And then he caught sight of a tendril, no bigger around than a thread, creeping out from the bottom of the cage. He had breached the barrier, but at this rate, he would use all his energy before breaking free. A new idea occurred to him. He continued the outpouring of reiatsu, while at the same time directing the tendril through the wall and into the shrine. As it snaked past one wall and then the next, across the floor and up to the ceiling, all the scenes came to life. And within them . . . every tree, every animal, every grain of sand or blade of grass lost its form in a haze of green-blue light. That light seeped out of the walls and followed the tendril back to its source.

Ruri'iro Kujaku had not even known that such a thing would happen until the moment he'd sent the tendril forth. It had been yet another one of those strange illuminating moments where he'd not even known his own abilities until their use.

And now, here, gathered before him just outside the bars of his cage, was life. Shimmering. Obedient. Radiant.

Powerful beyond anything he had ever called forth.

If he were going to do this, he would have only one chance.

He closed his eyes and at an internal command that only the inhabitants of his world could hear, he ordered the glowing mass of energy to him. In a split second, the entirety of the shrine's power traveled up the single tendril, and in the next moment . . .

Ruri'iro Kujaku ejected it from his body with such force that the explosion that followed laid waste to everything around him and left him on his knees, trembling and breathes for several seconds.

When he finally gathered his wits enough to raise his head, the cage was gone.

So was the shrine.

He was in darkness, suffused with glowing particles of blue-green light, falling light snow around him.

His plan had worked, but at what cost? He had no time to ponder it, for he knew that the cost was most likely to become steeper in the next few moments.

He only hoped he was not too late.

Not too weak.

* * *

"Lieutenant?"

Yachiru did not open her eyes as she answered, "Yes?"

Ikkaku was hesitant to ask what was on his mind, but the question burned stronger than his reluctance. "Where is Captain Zaraki?"

"I don't know," she replied. "He went off on one of his adventures."

"And he didn't take you with him?" Ikkaku asked. He was surprised at the idea, since Captain Zaraki and Lieutenant Kusajishi were almost inseparable.

"I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay with Wierdo," she replied.

"So, he just left within the past few days?"

"He left after the battle. I think he was mad because he wasn't part of it and went to find some action," she ventured. "I wish he had come here with me. Maybe if he—ohh!" She sat up abruptly, stricken. "He's not breathing!"

Ikkaku felt it at the same moment. Where the minute fiber of Yumichika's reiatsu had been detectable before, now it was gone. All sorts of alarms began going off in the room, but Ikkaku did not move.

He felt numb as members of Squad Four, including Captain Unohana, began to arrive. He did not protest when he and the lieutenant were ushered out of the room. He knew already that all attempts at resuscitation would be in vain, and he suspected Captain Unohana knew that as well. He stood in the hallway, the lieutenant beside him. He did not even balk when she reached up and slid her hand into his.

The moment felt . . . unreal. It was as if he were not actually there but rather observing the moment from the outside, taking note of the slant of the fading sunlight as it came through the hall window, listening to the muted voices on the other side of the doorway as they worked to bring a dead man back to life, watching the coming and going of medical personnel . . .

Hearing the leaden silence as the effort was abandoned.

It was over now.

It was over, and Ikkaku considered that he had weathered it well.

Yes, very well. He was still on his feet, dry-eyed and stone-faced. No weakness here. No watery display of grief. After all, he'd known this moment was coming . . . he'd had time to prepare himself.

Damn . . . damn . . .

Captain Unohana came out of the room. She approached Ikkaku and Lieutenant Kusajishi, but before she could speak a single word, Ikkaku gave a curt nod.

"You tried. Thanks." He wanted no explanations, no sad announcements or speeches. He knew what had happened. Everyone knew.

Captain Unohana accepted this. She knew Madarame was stoic, and she would not set the stage for him to lose his composure. She could feel the agony within him in a way no one else could.

"We will move him to the mourning shrine shortly." She paused and eyed him curiously. "Will you go see him there?"

"I—I've . . . I've already . . . seen him enough," Ikkaku stammered.

Yachiru tugged on his hakama. "Madarame-san." It might have been the first time ever that she had called him by his name, and her voice carried a note of both encouragement and chastisement.

Ikkaku had not the strength of will to argue. "Yes, yes, I'll go see him there."

Unohana nodded. "Very good." She offered no other condolence, knowing that Madarame was in no condition to be coddled. That would be the worst thing for him.

She turned and headed back to her office. She had a couple messages to send out.

* * *

Ikkaku had never been in the mourning shrine before.

It was actually a very beautiful place. Located close to the hospital on the Squad Four grounds, it was a mid-sized structure, roughly twenty yards across and thirty yards long, made from cedar but with bamboo doors, one double set in each wall. It was pagoda-style, and near the top of the lower wall, more bamboo windows opened to reveal a clear night dusted with stars. The upper part of the structure had sides of colored glass, and on the ceiling at the pinnacle was a painted scene of feathery cloud.

The wooden walls were plain except for an occasional gold-gilt image or symbol here and there. Ikkaku had no idea what any of them meant. And he didn't want to know. If they were prayer symbols, he'd already had enough of that. His brief flirtation with prayer and the possibility of a god had yielded nothing. Nothing. His prayers had not been answered, which to him, was all the proof he needed that god did not exist.

And in the center of the shrine was a low dais upon which sat a rectangular table, beautifully carved from the finest cherry wood and surrounded by four candle holders, one at each corner, the candles casting the only light in the room.

Yumichika lay on the table covered from the neck down by a white sheet that draped several inches over the sides. The empty hilt of his zanpakuto rested at his feet. He looked exactly as he had in the hospital room. There was no "dressing up the dead" for viewing in the mourning shrine. It was the last, brief stop for many souls before returning to the world of the living as their next incarnation – if that were their lot. Other souls went on to the King's Realm. Others . . . to hell.

All Ikkaku knew was that when Yumichika's body faded from this place, wherever he was bound, that would be the last Ikkaku would see of him. For if he were reincarnated, it would be in a different body. He would not be the same Yumichika Ikkaku had known all these years, and the missed opportunities would remain forever unfulfilled. Even if he were to be reunited one day with the pure soul that he had met in Soul Society, cast off from any physical body, how would events in the living world have changed him?

What the hell difference did it make, anyway?

This part of Ikkaku's life—the part that contained Yumichika—damn! the only part that mattered—had come to an end. Who gave a damn what came next?

He was alone in the shrine. Lieutenant Kusajishi had deferred and allowed him to go in first and alone, so that he would have some private time with Yumichika before other mourners began arriving to pay their respects.

Yet, Ikkaku could not bring himself to approach the dais. Was it cowardice? Guilt? The realization that this was the last time he was going to see Yumichika? Or maybe, by refusing to take part in mourning, he could somehow reject what had happened, like Orihime Inoue was able to reject actions of the past. Could Inoue have helped Yumichika? Ikkaku was too numb to give it much thought.

"Master."

Ikkaku felt Hoozukimaru's hands on his shoulders.

"You need to stop manifesting without my permission," he said in a monotone.

It was a meaningless scolding, spoken simply to deflect any expression of emotion.

And Hoozukimaru understood that. He knew his master was doing everything possible to keep the pain at arm's length.

"This will be the last time," the dragon promised. "Aren't you going to say good-bye to him?"

"I've already said good-bye . . . a hundred times," Ikkaku replied. "A hundred times a hundred."

"Do you—is it okay if I go up there?" Hoozukimaru asked.

"You can do what you want," Ikkaku replied.

Hoozukimaru walked up to the dais. The candle-light cast flickering shadows over Yumichika's face, but even in death, there was still beauty. And in that beauty, the dragon fought to detect some remnant of Ruri'iro Kujaku, some small reminder of the peacock's effulgence. The last time he had seen the peacock had been eight months ago, and he would never have believed that that would have been the final time they would see each other. And now, the only chance he had to recapture even the memory of such a magnanimous soul was to find traces of it in the face of his dead master.

"Little Pretty," he whispered, but no sooner had he spoken the words than he leapt down from the dais in shock. "Master!" he cried out. "I feel him! I feel—it's Flashy!"

Ikkaku was speechless. He thought his zanpakuto must have lost his mind. "You're just imagining it," he said. "Yumichika is dead, and that means Ruri'iro Kujaku is also dead—"

"No! I can feel Ruri'iro Kujaku's reiatsu again!"

"That's impossible—" Ikkaku stopped mid-protest. Now . . . he felt it. "No, this . . . this can't be happening—"

A flash of blue-green light filled the room, and when it had faded, Ruri'iro Kujaku stood near the foot of the dais where the sword hilt had been lying. He looked somewhat bewildered and drawn, but then as he took in his surroundings, his gaze fell upon Hoozukimaru and the appearance of confusion vanished.

Hoozukimaru wasted not a moment before lurching forward and wrapping the peacock in his arms, as Ikkaku looked on dumbfounded.

Ruri'iro Kujaku felt as if every muscle in his body had melted away. The sense of safety and belonging that came from being in Hoozukimaru's embrace, after the horrors of the past eight months, was overwhelming. He pressed his cheek against the dragon's chest and wept silently.

"I thought I'd lost you . . . I thought I'd lost you," Hoozukimaru muttered.

Ikkaku was stunned. He'd never seen much of the interaction between the two zanpakuto spirits, but now that he was witnessing this moment, he was astounded at the depth of their commitment to each other. And even more amazed at Hoozukimaru's willingness to express his sentiments. There was an honesty between the two of them that Ikkaku had never had with Yumichika: an honesty of emotion. Ikkaku had shown his feelings from time to time, but those occasions had grown less and less over the years. Now, seeing Hoozukimaru unabashedly proclaim his fears and his relief, Ikkaku felt a stab of bitterness that he had allowed the years to take that away from him and Yumichika, to the point where he could not even admit to himself how he felt about Yumichika.

Shit. He hadn't been able to admit it until Yumichika lay dying in his arms in Mito. The realization of so many wasted years was more than he could bear.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, stepping forward. "We thought you had been destroyed."

Ruri'iro Kujaku drew back from Hoozukimaru's embrace, although the dragon still kept his hands protectively on both shoulders. The peacock regarded Ikkaku with a hint of his former swagger. "I was damaged in the fight, but my master imprisoned me to save my life. It took a lot of energy for me to break free."

That was when Hoozukimaru noticed that Ruri'iro Kujaku's reiatsu was greatly diminished. To be sure, it was still more powerful than most others; but compared to its former glory, it could not have half the potency it had once possessed. "Is that why you're so weak?" he asked.

"I was desperate," Ruri'iro explained. "I had to get out, to save him." He hesitated, looking up into the dragon's tiny eyes. "I—I had to destroy the shrine to break free."

"Flashy . . . " Hoozukimaru drew him close again. "That was the center of your power."

Ruri'iro Kujaku could not speak. He only nodded.

"I don't understand this," Ikkaku blurted out. "How can you be here? He's dead, and you're supposed to be dead, too. Even if you weren't killed in the battle, once he died, you should have died, too!"

Ruri'iro Kujaku froze.

_Dead?_

_His master . . . dead?_

_No . . . _

In the darkness of his world, after the destruction of the shrine, he'd not had a view of where he was materializing into. He'd just assumed it would still be the hospital room. Now, for the first time since manifesting, he took in his surroundings.

And as his eyes fell upon the lifeless body of his master, he once again found himself unable to move.

"How—how is this possible?" he spluttered. "He must not be dead. I wouldn't be here if he were dead."

"He is dead," Hoozukimaru confirmed. "And you are still here."

Slowly, Ruri'iro Kujaku turned and moved step by labored step towards the head of the table. He looked at the ashen face before him. This was still his master whom he adored. Death could not change that. He pressed his palm to the set cheek.

"He's already cold."

He drew the sheet down to Yumichika's waist, bearing the naked body beneath. What had once been the very image of perfection was now nothing more than skin stretched over bone. The eight months in Mito had nearly consumed his body, and what little had remained, had been abused in the battle. Ruri'iro Kujaku ran his hands gingerly down Yumichika's arms, recalling a time when those arms had desired nothing more than to hold him and tease him and comfort him.

Oh, how long ago that had been! How many dark and lonely years had passed in between!

And yet . . . those days of joy and passion, those were the moments that were foremost in the peacock's mind.

He leaned his head close to Yumichika's.

"I don't know why I'm still alive. Because if you're not here, I don't want to be here," he whispered. A pause. "If I fail, wherever you go to after this, know that . . . I never stopped loving you, master."

He straightened up and stepped down from the dais. He held his arm out to the side and the sword materialized in his hand.

Ikkaku leaped forward. "What the hell are you doing?!" he demanded.

Ruri'iro Kujaku was placid. "There's nothing anyone here can do for him. I'm his only chance."

Hoozukimaru did not like the sound of those words. "Flashy . . . "

"He's dead! There's nothing you can do for him, either!" Ikkaku lashed out.

"Let him try."

All heads turned to see Captains Kyoraku and Ukitake just inside the north-facing entrance to the shrine. It was Captain Ukitake who had spoken.

"This—this is crazy!" Ikkaku protested. "He can't—he can't bring the dead back to life."

Kyoraku came forward slowly. "It's called restoring. And yes, he can – if his instincts show him how to do it."

Ikkaku pulled back on his own instinct of lashing out in hatred and panic. He glared at Ruri'iro Kujaku. "Can you do that? Can you bring him back to life?"

Ruri'iro inclined his head. "I don't know. Breaking free from the cage weakened me, and even my greatest abundance of reiatsu never came close to that of my master. I can give him what I have, but I don't know if it will be enough. And I don't know if . . . if I know how to do it. Or even if it can be done."

Hoozukimaru put a hand on his back. "But something told you to try," he pointed out. "It must be that instinct Captain Kyoraku is talking about."

"But—but what is he doing here? How is he still here?!" Ikkaku demanded, sounding more frantic with his passing second. "He should be dead!"

"The explanation can wait," Shunsui replied. "Right now, we're running out of time. Believe me, everyone felt his entrance into the Seireitei. They're going to be looking for him." He looked at Ruri'iro Kujaku. "So, if you're going to attempt it, you'd better get started."

The kujaku looked back at them dubiously. "You won't interfere?"

"No."

"And you won't let anyone else interfere?"

"We'll hold them off as long as we can," Shunsui replied.

In an unexpected act of consideration, Ruri'iro turned his gaze to Ikkaku.

Ikkaku was silent for a long time. At last, he said in a reluctant voice. "Do it."

With that, Ruri'iro Kujaku extended his left arm and swung it wide. The shutters slammed down over the windows and locked into place. When he repeated the same movement, the doors locked and the candles were extinguished.

He clasped his hands together in front of him around the hilt of his sword.

His voice was barely a whisper. "Sakikirue."

The blade released into the blue-green vines, which hovered close around him.

"Give me your word," he demanded softly, raising his eyes to regard Ikkaku in the blue-green light. "That you will never abandon him again."

Ikkaku nodded. "I give you my word."

Ruri'iro Kujaku turned to Hoozukimaru but no words would come.

Hoozukimaru stepped up. "I'll be right here behind you. It will be alright."

Ruri'iro Kujaku smiled but it was a false, thin thing. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. A silent command extended the vines and sent them billowing above his head in thousands of gossamer threads. The entire room was filled with the light of the vines. The air hummed and it seemed as if the wooden walls around them would not be able to hold the power being corralled and harnessed. Then, the threads receded into the hilt and there came forth dozens of filaments, no larger than the width of a finger, snaking forward and slithering beneath the covers to twine themselves around Yumichika's body.

Ruri'iro Kujaku opened his eyes to take one final look at his master. Whether he were successful or not, he would never lay eyes on him again.

He stepped up on the dais and touched his lips briefly to Yumichika's. "Forgive me . . . for not being what you wanted," he whispered.

When he stepped down, he hesitated. Did he really have the courage to do this?

Courage he might be lacking, but looking at Yumichika lying there, empty of life . . .

A shuddering breath of resolve escaped his lips, and then low, steady waves of reiatsu could be seen traveling through the vines from him to Yumichika. The waves grew brighter and more powerful until the entire room was filled again with a blinding azure light.

Ikkaku shielded his eyes until the intensity of the light began to fade. He could hear people banging on the doors, but no one was able to enter. Whatever Ruri'iro Kujaku had done to seal the place was keeping the others out; plus, two senior captains had plenty of reiatsu between them to add to the effort.

When Ikkaku was able to open his eyes again, he saw the figure of Ruri'iro Kujaku still standing just to the side of the dais. He looked thin and worn, his shoulders sagging and his eyes filled with sadness . . . and fear. He was greatly diminished and now only a weak trickle of reiatsu flowed through the vines. He wavered, and Hoozukimaru immediately stepped up to steady him.

"It's not enough," Ruri'iro whispered, his voice trembling. "I don't have enough . . . "

Hoozukimaru circled his arms around him from behind and said with assuredness, "Yes, you do. Keep going." They were not words the dragon wanted to say, but he knew they were words the peacock needed to hear.

Another minute passed. At last, Ikkaku could wait no longer. He stepped up onto the dais, and looked down just as Yumichika's eyes opened. There was a brief moment of recognition before Yumichika's gaze drifted down to rest upon Ruri'iro Kujaku, now only a shadow and quickly fading, the trail of the vines completely gone.

"Ruri'iro . . . " His lips moved but no sound came out.

_"Kimi . . . sleep,"_ Ruri'iro Kujaku said silently, and Yumichika closed his eyes in exhaustion.

"Yumichika," Ikkaku whispered. He saw the steady rise and fall of his chest. He could hear the inhalations, the exhalations. He felt the warmth returning to the skin.

How? How had Ruri'iro Kujaku done it?

He turned to inquire, but instead held his peace.

The Azure Peacock was barely discernible in Hoozukimaru's arms.

The dragon's voice, only just audible, had a sense of finality to it. "You know how much I love you, you . . . you strange bird."

Ruri'iro Kujaku's voice sounded like the wind. "Yes." A pause. "Make sure your master keeps his word."

Those were his last words before he disappeared from view.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Dear Reader, Thank you, everyone, for the reviews. I usually post a thank-you in the reviews, but I also wanted to include a special thank you here in the header. It makes me very happy to know you are all enjoying the story, and I appreciate each and everyone of you for taking the time to comment. After all, I don't write just for myself. I like to share my writing with others in the hopes that they will find something enjoyable in what they see. So, here is a nice short chapter to go into the weekend. Viel spass! Peace, TK**_

* * *

Chapter 9 A Certain Kind of Silence

"_Walking on this earth, finding you.  
__What can I say?  
__You don't need to find the words  
__To say what's on your mind."_

_Remember Me, My Friend  
_Justin Hayward and John Lodge

* * *

Captain Unohana had known immediately what was going on. The spiritual pressure was unmistakable.

She had allowed her squad members to attempt to enter the mourning shrine, knowing they would not be able to manage it. Ruri'iro Kujaku's power aside, she had also detected the reiatsus of Ukitake and Kyoraku; the place was well-protected and sealed off from anyone who might try to interfere.

When others had arrived, including Captain Soifon and members of the enforcement team, the Squad Four captain did not impede them in their futile efforts to gain entry.

When, at last, the energy within the shrine had died down and disappeared, Captain Unohana placed a gentle hand on Soifon's arm and informed her, "I will enter first." At Soifon's protest, Retsu smiled in such a way that made argument impossible. "As captain of Squad Four, these are my facilities. Please keep everyone out here until I ascertain what has happened."

But she knew what had happened before she even entered the shrine.

Stepping inside, she closed the door behind her and surveyed the room.

Captains Ukitake and Kyoraku were standing just inside the east-facing set of doors. They looked none the worse for the wear. Madarame stood beside the dais; he appeared afraid of going any closer. His zanpakuto spirit, Hoozukimaru, stood slightly behind him.

Ayasegawa was still lying on the table.

But the difference was already palpable.

Captain Unohana went directly to the dais and up to the table. She could not, nor did she want to, hide the tiny grin that formed on her lips.

"Ruri'iro Kujaku was here," she asserted and assumed at the same time.

Ikkaku was still too stunned to respond, so Shunsui answered, tongue-in-cheek, "What makes you say that?"

The humor was much appreciated by everyone except Ikkaku, who did not even hear what was being said. He wanted only one thing: for someone to tell him that what he had seen was not imagined, that Yumichika had truly been brought back to life, that Ruri'iro Kujaku had somehow managed the impossible.

He stood by, torn between a need to go closer and a terrible fear that, if he did so, he would only find that nothing had changed, that Yumichika was still dead. He watched from below as Captain Unohana began a preliminary examination, then his breath caught in his throat when he heard Yumichika's voice, barely a whisper, say something in response to a question posed by Unohana.

Ikkaku could not make out what he had said, but it hardly mattered. When he saw Captain Unohana take Yumichika's hand in hers and saw the return grip, he felt something swelling up inside him that he hadn't experienced since . . . he could not remember the last time he'd felt such a sensation.

After another minute or two, Unohana motioned for Ikkaku to come up.

He felt as if he were moving in slow motion as he stepped onto the dais

"Ayasegawa-san," Unohana prompted gently.

Yumichika opened his eyes. They were cloudy and wandered for several seconds before coming to rest upon Ikkaku's face. He was too weak to speak and too groggy to make sense of the situation; but he knew whose visage he was looking at. Whether or not it gave him comfort was something Ikkaku could not discern. A few seconds later, he closed his eyes again.

"Is he going to be alright?" Ikkaku managed to ask, surprised that his voice did not betray what he felt inside.

"I have to do a more thorough examination," Unohana replied. "But . . . I think so. It may take a long time, but I think he's past any danger of dying . . . again." A pause. "We'll be moving him back into a patient room shortly."

At that moment, a hell butterfly appeared. Captain Unohana took the message, clucked her tongue, and replied, "Tell the head captain I will be there after I tend to the patient. It's critical that I be here at this moment, but I'll come as soon as I can. I understand the rest of the message." She turned to Ikkaku. "Excuse me for a moment, Madarame-san."

With that, she went over to where Captains Ukitake and Kyoraku stood. She spoke to them briefly, after which they both departed. Once more, she looked at Ikkaku and, this time, Hoozukimaru. "You both must never tell anyone what you saw here; that's on direct order from the head captain. We'll just call it a miraculous recovery."

Ikkaku looked at her incredulously. "Who will believe that? Everyone felt Ruri'iro Kujaku's reiatsu. And no one just comes back from the dead."

"You must refuse to talk about it when pressed," Unohana replied. "Believe me, it's for Ayasegawa's own good." With that, she went to the door and brought in several of her staff to assist.

Captain Soifon also entered, and she headed straight for Ikkaku.

But Ikkaku was in no mood to answer any questions.

In fact . . . he needed to get out of there.

Now.

Before anyone saw.

* * *

"What am I to do with you two? You never listen. You never obey."

Juushiro cast a brief sideways glance at Shunsui before looking back at the floor.

"We're sorry, captain, but it was what we had to do," Shunsui replied, and despite his words of apology, he did not sound penitent. "How could we—what kind of men would we be if we prevented a zanpakuto from trying to save its master?"

"And the end result was still the same," Juushiro pointed out. "Ruri'iro Kujaku is dissolved. He ended up using all his energy to save Ayasegawa."

"That's never happened with an Atmen before," Shunsui added. "They've never willingly given away all their energy."

Head Captain Yamamoto regarded the two senior captains before him and wondered if they had any idea how reckless and immature their actions had been.

"And if it had not turned out that way?" he challenged. "If Ruri'iro Kujaku had returned and wreaked havoc?"

"But why do we have to assume he would do that?" Juushiro demanded. "From what I saw, Captain Unohana was right. The only thing that ever mattered to Ruri'iro Kujaku was Ayasegawa."

"And Hoozukimaru," Shunsui put forth.

"I didn't see anything in him that would indicate he had a violent nature," Juushiro went on. "Yes, he was powerful, but he was so . . . focused on only one thing that I don't think he ever considered using that power for anything else."

Shunsui sighed and pushed up the brim of his hat. "Besides, it's over now. He's gone, and . . . I guess we'll find out if what he did was enough to save Ayasegawa."

"To save him? _To save him?" _The head captain glared at them. "He brought him back to life! We are not talking about repairing an injury or replenishing some small amount of reiatsu. Ayasegawa was dead, and he brought him back to life."

Juushiro and Shunsui were silent.

"Ayasegawa gave life, not just to a zanpakuto, but to an Atmen," Yamamoto went on. "And then that Atmen gave life back to the one who had begotten him.

The head captain's use of the word _begotten_ caught both Juushiro's and Shunsui's attention. It was a carefully chosen word and conveyed a very specific connotation.

"Ayasegawa did not _create_ Ruri'iro Kujaku like someone creates in a laboratory," Yamamoto explained. "And Ruri'iro Kujaku is not merely an extension of Ayasegawa. Atmens are like off-spring, born of their masters. That is why they can _outlive_ their masters." A pause. "And until now, I would have contended that they were . . . inculcated with a self-preservation instinct that told them they _should_ outlive their masters. An Atmen sacrificing its own existence is unheard of." A pause. "Captain Unohana has not given me her report yet, but tell me . . . do you know her prognosis for Ayasegawa?"

"We left while she was still examining him," Juushiro replied.

After a considerable silence, the head captain asked, "How many people saw what happened?"

"I don't know how many were outside trying to get in, but inside it was just the two of us, Madarame and his zanpakuto, Ayasegawa and Ruri'iro Kujaku," Shunsui replied. "Captain Unohana, when she entered, knew right away what had happened."

"I would expect as much," Yamamoto stated. "But it is imperative that no one else find out."

"Why?" Shunsui asked.

"Because just the mention of an Atmen, even one dissolved, raises all kinds of reaction from the population," Yamamoto replied. "Not only that, but if Ayasegawa does survive, it will be better for him if no one knows he ever possessed an Atmen. I do not want to draw attention to him unnecessarily."

"Well, then, you'd better get word to Madarame and the people over in Squad Four pretty quickly," Shunsui pointed out.

"I've already sent word via the same hell butterfly that brought you here. Captain Unohana will tell the others," Yamamoto informed. "I am telling _you two_ to keep it quiet."

"We will, Sir," Juushiro assured him.

"You are dismissed."

* * *

Putting off Captain Soifon had not been as contentious as Ikkaku had thought it would be. He, of course, had Captain Unohana to run interference for him. As such, he'd made it out of the shrine fairly uncontested and then spent the next ten minutes wandering aimlessly about the Squad Four grounds. At last he found himself in the medicinal garden, barren in the midst of early winter. There was a stone bench beside a frozen fountain, and this was where Ikkaku finally decided to take a rest.

He had felt pretty good about his heroic maintenance of self-control; but the moment he sat down, any semblance of composure was gone. And once begun, he could not stop the tears nor the anguish that accompanied them.

He could not recall the last time he had cried. Had he ever cried? Maybe not. But he did so now.

And it was not a mere shedding of tears. It was the wrenching deluge of a million sadnesses denied. Every disappointment, every hurt, every wrong . . . every pain that he had never allowed himself to feel. He felt them now, and in such a peculiar way!

At the deepest reaches of his heart, he knew the tears were of relief and joy at Yumichika's unexpected return to life. He knew there was hope of recovering the relationship they had once shared. But there was also the realization of everything he had lost due to his own actions. So many chances had gone by untaken.

He had been a terrible soul often enough. And yet . . .

And yet, here he was with a second chance to make things right. For reasons he could not fathom or even identify, he was being given an opening towards the future that only minutes ago had been closed.

Maybe . . . maybe his prayers had been answered, after all.

It was a disturbing thought to a soul so used to relying only on itself.

But if that were the case, if his prayers had been answered, then surely . . . surely something was expected in return.

How would he know? How would he know what to do, what to give? He'd made so many mistakes in the past, could he even trust his own judgment?

He felt something on his knee.

Opening his eyes, he came face-to-face with Lieutenant Kusajishi. She was standing with her hands resting on his knee, and her chin resting on her hands. Her round eyes had a look of concern in them.

"Are you crying because you're happy, Baldy?" she asked.

"Ehh, I—I'm fine, Lieutenant," Ikkaku stammered, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

"But are you happy?" she pressed.

Ikkaku nodded and swallowed. "Yeah. I'm happy."

Yachiru shifted back and forth from foot to foot in a sort of child-like prance, never taking her chin from his knee. "Who saved him? Do you know? Do you? Do you? Do you know who saved him?"

Ikkaku got the impression that Yachiru already knew the answer to that question. "I think so," he replied.

Yachiru motioned for him to lean close, and when he did, she whispered in his ear.

"It was Ruri'iro Kujaku."

Ikkaku felt a smile break through his tears. "How do you know that?"

"Because I like Ruri'iro Kujaku," she grinned. "I could sense something inside Weirdo for a long time, but I wasn't sure what it was. Weirdo kept him hidden, but I knew there was some kind of secret." She giggled. "But I didn't know Ruri'iro Kujaku could do _that._ I didn't know anyone could do that!_"_

Ikkaku nodded. "Yeah." A pause. "But we can't tell anyone, Lieutenant. The head captain said we can't tell anyone what Ruri'iro Kujaku did."

Yachiru was still smiling. "But I have to tell Kenny." She jumped up and down once. "Maybe if I tell him, he'll say it's okay for Weirdo to stay and—"

Ikkaku put his hand on her shoulder. "No, lieutenant, you can't tell the captain, and . . . Yumichika can't stay. He doesn't have a zanpakuto anymore, so he can't be a Shinigami, and besides . . . I wouldn't let him stay anyway. This isn't the life for him. It never has been. So . . . as soon as he's strong enough to travel, we're leaving. I'm taking him away from here."

Yachiru did not reply right away. She regarded him sadly, and at length, turned her head to rest her cheek on his knee. "He never was happy here, was he?"

"Not really."

It was an admission that drove his guilt to the forefront. "I think he pretended for a long time," Ikkaku went on. "But he's not . . . he's not a warrior."

Yachiru sighed audibly. "He's my favorite."

Ikkaku swallowed down the bitter irony of his own feelings. "Yeah . . . mine, too."

If only it hadn't taken him this long to realize it.

* * *

The next four days were trying.

Yumichika had numerous moments of brief wakefulness, but very little coherence. He spoke only in answer to questions, and his answers were succinct, single-word responses. He was clearly still extremely weak, barely able to raise his head and then only for a few seconds at a time.

However, he was not hemorrhaging spirit energy anymore, and that was the most important matter.

Ikkaku spent almost every moment in Yumichika's room. Captain Unohana had deemed it best and had given instructions to her staff not badger or complain about Madarame's continuous presence.

Others came by to visit. None of them knew that Yumichika had died and been brought back to life. None of them knew that Ruri'iro Kujaku had sacrificed his existence in order to restore that life.

And Ikkaku could not tell them. Hell, he wouldn't even know where to begin, how to explain what he had seen. He still didn't understand it himself. He'd never heard of a zanpakuto being able to bring the dead back to life. But over the past four days, he'd had plenty of time to think about it. In fact, there was little else he could think about, other than hoping silently and waiting, however impatiently, for Yumichika to regain his senses.

He wondered if restoring life was an extension of Ruri'iro Kujaku's ability to heal. On one hand, it seemed logical that a power that was able to repair injury should also be able to inject life. But on the other hand, the two acts seemed completely isolated from each other. Healing injuries involved the repair and restoration of physical damage. Bringing the dead back to life was a matter of re-introducing the life force back into a body that had lost it. And a life force was more than just spirit energy. It was the animating force that turned matter into substance, that coaxed the spark into that which had been dark.

Ikkaku turned the idea over until he felt his head would explode. No matter how he tried, he would never understand it. Maybe it was simply a mystery beyond his comprehension, and he would be best off to leave it as such. Yet, he could not put it out of his mind. Even when he tried to concentrate on something else, it was always there in the background, reminding him that he'd been in the company of an unspeakable power for over a hundred years, and he'd not even known it.

It made him feel ashamed and petty, selfish and foolish. Ruri'iro Kujaku's sacrifice had shown him precisely what had distinguished the peacock's love from his own.

But he had a chance now. He had a chance to make good, and he would do just that. He had been repeating that resolution over and over since the moment he realized he'd been given a reprieve, a second opportunity to make things right.

He looked up at the first rays of dawn coming through the window. He had been up all night, and now the burgeoning morning light told him how tired he was. He was sitting in the same chair he had sat in every day, an uncomfortable metal and plastic thing, pulled up close beside the bed. He'd gotten into the habit of leaning forward to rest his arms on the bed and his head on his arms. And in doing so, he would invariably grasp Yumichika's hand, intent on maintaining some sort of contact.

He had grown accustomed to the feel of Yumichika's hand, skeletal and dry. Limp. It still felt like the hand of a dead man. But Yumichika wasn't dead, and that gave Ikkaku comfort as he closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind.

He dreamed. Strangely enough, he dreamed of the day he had killed Pakkay. He could almost feel Ruri'iro Kujaku in his hand. His own aversion towards the weapon. The weapon's disgust with him. He could see the red sheen of blood on the blade. And he could hear a voice repeating over and over again, "Keep your word. Keep your word. Keep your word." Suddenly, he recognized that the voice was his own. As he looked at his fist clenched around the hilt of Ruri'iro Kujaku, the metal guard came to life and wrapped around his hand, squeezing it gently . . .

Only it wasn't just in his dream.

His hand really was being squeezed.

"What are you saying?"

Feeble as it might be, that was Yumichika's voice.

Ikkaku's eyes shot open. He knew now that it was Yumichika who had been squeezing his hand. Sitting upright, as his gaze fell on Yumichika's face, he felt the urge once again to burst into tears of relief; but this time, he would not do it. He would control himself.

Yumichika regarded him through half-closed eyes. "What were you saying?" he asked, sounding groggy, as if he were speaking in a drug-induced fog.

But Ikkaku knew that was not the case.

"You're awake," Ikkaku said. He hung there at his side, not knowing what to say or do. After a few seconds, he announced, "I'm going to get Captain Unohana."

Yumichika tightened his frail grip. "Not yet."

Ikkaku hesitated, caught between sitting down and going to fetch Unohana. He knew the Squad Four captain should be notified right away that Yumichika was awake and lucid; but Yumichika did not want him to go.

_Not yet._

He sat down slowly, his hand still clasped in Yumichika's.

The two men stared at each other in silence for a long half-minute, then Yumichika spoke.

"You're alright."

Ikkaku swallowed. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"Did we . . . win . . . the battle?"

Already, Ikkaku could hear the strain in Yumichika's voice. "Yeah, we won," he replied.

"The demon . . . "

"Was destroyed," Ikkaku completed his sentence. He paused. "You don't remember?" After several seconds of silence, he asked, "Do you remember anything about the battle?"

"Not much," Yumichika replied. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if to corral his strength. This was clearly a labor for him. "Kaekae?"

Ikkaku was caught off-guard. In the aftermath of the battle, he'd completely forgotten about the old seaman.

"I, uh . . . I don't know," he replied honestly. "I was so worried about you that I . . . I came back with Captain Unohana, and I didn't see what happened to Kaekae."

"You . . . have to check," Yumichika insisted.

Ikkaku was flabbergasted. After everything that had happened—apparently, much of which Yumichika did not remember—topping Yumichika's list of concerns was Kaekae . . . just as it had been back in Mito. Once he'd ascertained that Ikkaku was safe, Yumichika's thoughts had turned to the boatman.

"I will," Ikkaku assured him. "I will, I promise." He saw Yumichika looking at him, staring at him with no sense of inhibition; and he began to tremble. He had waited days for this moment, and now that it was upon him, he had no idea how to react.

But Yumichika, in his hazy state of mind, did not look away and did not speak. He appeared to be searching for something in Ikkaku's countenance.

Ikkaku could easily guess at the unspoken questions, but there was nothing he could say to undo all the wrongs of the past hundred years. At last, he could not bear the bleary scrutiny being directed him, and he dropped his forehead down to rest on the side of the bed.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. His voice devolved into sobs between which he gasped out his litany of offenses. "I'm sorry, Yumichika. For all the times I let you down. For turning away from you. For—for making you give up everything you loved. For only thinking of myself—"

He felt Yumichika's hand on the back of his head.

"Ikkaku, stop," Yumichika chastised in a wisp of a voice. "I . . . was wrong, too."

Ikkaku shook his head miserably. "No . . . Yumichika, this whole thing has been my fault."

"I hid the truth—"

Ikkaku looked up. "Because of me," he pointed out. "You hid the truth because of me." He sat up straight and looked at him intently. "But I swear to you—I swear, Yumichika, I'm going to make it up to you. For all the promises I made before, the ones I couldn't keep . . . this time it will be different. I . . . I'm going to keep my word."

"I never doubted your word," Yumichika said. "I knew it wouldn't be easy . . . "

Ikkaku was aware that Yumichika had no idea of the promise made to Ruri'iro Kujaku. He was still thinking in terms of the oaths of long ago. And Ikkaku was not about to mention the Azure Peacock, for what would he say?

"You don't have to make excuses for me, Yumichika," Ikkaku stated, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. "I know I've been a bastard all these years, but that's going to change. It has changed."

"I believe you."

The sincerity in Yumichika's voice was undeniable. He trusted Ikkaku. Just as he had always trusted him.

Ikkaku would commit to meriting that trust. Right now. At this moment. "So . . . so you need to rest and heal quickly so we can leave here."

"Leave . . . "

"Leave the Seireitei," Ikkaku said. "For good."

"Both of us?"

Ikkaku nodded.

"But—but I—"

"Don't start arguing with me about it, Yumichika," Ikkaku warned gently. "I had already decided this after seeing you in Mito. I've made up my mind. I'm taking you away from here, and we'll . . . we'll be okay."

Yumichika stared at him in silence. No words would suffice to express what he was feeling.

Ikkaku drew in a deep breath and nodded resolutely. "So, the number one priority is you regaining your strength. The sooner you're well, the sooner we can leave." He stood up. "I'm going to find Captain Unohana and tell her you're awake."

Yumichika felt like he should say something, some poignant remark as Ikkaku prepared to step out. Some word of gratitude or conciliation.

And still, the silence prevailed. But it was not a cold silence. Not a shutting out silence.

It was not the silence that accompanied the end of things.

It was the kind of silence that preceded a new beginning.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10 Setting the Stage

"_Let me be on a journey to your heart,  
__on a mission to your soul.  
__Let me walk by your side."_

_The Eastern Sun  
_Justin Hayward

* * *

It would be a quick turn-around.

But not _too_ quick.

At least he knew he would be reborn into a human body and not an animal one. The days of returning to the world of the living in a lower form were gone, and surely he had not regressed so much as to warrant a demotion in his next incarnation.

He would take only a single seed of memory with him. There was, after all, just one thing he needed to recall in the next life. His purpose. If he never recovered that memory, then this whole undertaking would be for nothing.

The act he was about to commit was not suicide, although it might be labeled as such from the viewpoint of onlookers. No, the decision to take his own life had, as its catalyst, nothing to do with despair or grief or sadness.

It had everything to do with revenge and the recoupment of power.

Heykibi knew he could never leave the precipice world and return to Soul Society as a free man. He would be hunted down and sent to the Maggots' Nest – or even worse, sealed away.

But there was a way.

His death would send him back to the living world in his next incarnation. Upon the death of that incarnation, he would once again return to the Soul Society. Granted, his soul would always be the same one, but his appearance and degree of spirit energy would be changed enough that the return _of Heykibi_ might not be noticed. He would be just another new arrival.

Of course, there were risks involved.

The cue he would plant in his eternal soul might fail and the reason for his quest be lost forever.

Through some unforeseen disaster, his next incarnation might die before reaching the age of reason, and he would be returned to Soul Society in the state of a child, unaware of his goal; and even if he were aware, he'd most likely be unable to carry it out.

He could return to Soul Society upon his death in the living world, only to be found out right away and taken into custody.

If he could manage to pass at least thirty years in his next incarnation, he would be in the prime of his life and able to return to Soul Society with the physical and mental prowess of a man at his peak. Thirty years was hardly a moment against the eternal backdrop of Soul Society, and so he was willing to wait, if it meant he had a chance at finding the Atmen and regaining the power he had amassed for himself. And surely, by the time he returned to Soul Society, the furor over the demons would have died away and become a dusty memory.

Heykibi was a patient man. The hundreds of years he'd spent collecting reiatsu for his creation was proof of that. He called upon that patience now.

The sweeper would be coming by any moment to clear out any lingering souls from the precipice world. Heykibi had carefully avoided it on its previous passages, leaping back into Soul Society or the living world for a few seconds at each passing.

He would not avoid it this time. It was time to rejoin the world of the living.

* * *

"So? Captain Unohana? He's getting better, right?" Ikkaku asked the instant Retsu Unohana came out of Yumichika's room.

Retsu smiled. "Yes, he's getting better. He's definitely more coherent, but he's still very ill, Madarame-san. His reiatsu, while increased, is dangerously low, especially for someone like him, whose capacity for spiritual energy is so much greater than most others. He's extremely weak, and it will probably be weeks before he's strong enough to even get out of bed."

"But he's not going to die," Ikkaku spoke the question.

"No, I think it's safe to say he's not going to die," Unohana replied. "But he's also never going to be the same soul that he was before, at least with regard to his spirit energy. I would anticipate that he'll regain energy slowly until he returns to a sustainment level. But without Ruri'iro Kujaku, I don't think . . . I don't think he has the ability to manage anything greater."

"I don't care about anything greater," Ikkaku replied. "As long as he's going to live, that's all that matters."

Captain Unohana regarded him with a curious expression. "Do you think you're really up to the task?"

"What do you mean?"

"He's a wounded soul, Madarame-san," Unohana replied. "And it's a wound that can't be healed."

Ikkaku narrowed his eyes. "I don't understand."

"He hasn't realized yet that Ruri'iro Kujaku is gone," she said. "He's still moving through twilight right now, so he's not fully aware of what's happened." A pause. "But when he does realize it, that's an injury that we can't repair. We can't return to him what no longer exists." She put a hand on Ikkaku's arm. "I'm asking you if you really believe you can stay true to him through what is to come."

Ikkaku did not hesitate. "Yes, I can."

Retsu studied his face for a moment, then she nodded slightly. "I hope so, because if you can't, there aren't many other options."

Ikkaku was anxious. "Can I go back in and see him?"

"He's sleeping again, but you can go in," Unohana replied. "But first . . . your duty starts right now. You can't tell him he died and was brought back to life."

"What? Why not?"

"You can tell him he was healed, but not restored," Unohana said.

"But I don't—"

"For the same reasons we can't tell anyone else what happened," Unohana cut him off. "It's a power that can be horribly corrupted. It's better if no one—not even Ayasegawa—knows Ruri'iro Kujaku had that power."

"But what difference does it make? Ruri'iro Kujaku is destroyed," Ikkaku protested.

"But Heykibi is not."

"Heykibi? The sword smith? What's he got to do with this?"

"He's the one who was behind the creation of the demons," Unohana replied.

It occurred to Ikkaku that he'd been so worried about Yumichika that he'd not thought once about any discoveries that may have come from the battle's conclusion.

Ikkaku was flabbergasted. "Are you—are you sure? That doesn't seem possible."

"Positive," Unohana replied. "Mendalo turned him in, and we found proof of it in the forge."

Ikkaku tried to wrap his head around this idea. "How did Mendalo find out?"

"He came across a massive stockpile of zanpakuto hidden in the caves under the forge," Unohana replied. "He reported it, and it cost him his life. Heykibi killed him."

Ikkaku blanched. "Mendalo's dead?"

Unohana nodded. "Yes."

"But—but couldn't Ruri'iro Kujaku bring him back to life, just like he did with Yumichika?" Ikkaku blurted out unthinkingly.

"Yes, he could," Unohana replied. "Which is precisely why no one must know about Ruri'iro Kujaku's power. Surely, you can see that such a power could be terribly abused. The temptation to return the dead to life is too great for almost any soul to resist. So, even if Ruri'iro Kujaku is dissolved, the mere knowledge that such a weapon had recently existed would make Ayasegawa the target for many an unscrupulous soul. They won't believe that Ruri'iro Kujaku is truly destroyed. They'll try to possess him through Ayasegawa. You understand this, don't you?"

Ikkaku nodded minutely.

Unohana asked, "Do you still think you're up to the task?"

Ikkaku raised his head slowly to look at her with a focused determination. "So, it's not just that he's a wounded soul; he's also going to be a hunted soul."

"That remains to be seen," Unohana replied. "If news of Ruri'iro Kujaku's ability can be kept secret, then Ayasegawa should be safe. Very few people knew that Ayasegawa had actually died, so they won't know he was brought back to life. And the ones who did know were all my own people. I know they can be trusted. Many more felt Ruri'iro Kujaku's reiatsu when he brought Ayasegawa back to life, but we have just been telling people that those were Ruri'iro's healing powers, that he gave all his spirit energy to heal Ayasegawa, and was destroyed in the process."

"And they believe you?" Ikkaku asked.

"The fact that it all happened in the mourning shrine doesn't help our story, but I've managed to convince people that Ayaswegawa was not dead but near death, so we took him there." She shook her head. "It's clumsy, and maybe they really don't believe me, but we just have to stick with the story and wait for time to make it all fade to memory."

Ikkaku was thoughtful. "So, you're okay with me taking Yumichika away from here?"

"The farther, the better," she replied. "And not just for his protection, but for his peace-of-mind. It's not going to be easy, Madarame-san."

"I'm not worried about it being hard," Ikkaku replied. "I've dealt with hard before."

Captain Unohana smiled. "Then go on inside. But try not to wake him. He really needs a lot of rest. He's got a long way to go."

* * *

Kenpachi Zaraki might be coarse and barbaric. He might be cold and indifferent. He might even be slightly maniacal.

But the one thing he was not was a fool.

No sooner had he heard that Heykibi was responsible for the demon than he'd set off to find, not the demon, but the man. For, truth be told, Zaraki was one of the very few souls who had not liked the sword smith from the moment of their acquaintance.

Heykibi had known instantly upon their first meeting that Zaraki's zanpakuto was in a perpetually released state and that there was great disdain between the weapon and its master. When he learned that Zaraki did not even know the weapon's name, he had reacted with an unseemly smugness.

"If I had a weapon like that, I would know its name," the sword master had remarked. "I would know its name and cherish it."

The intended insult aside, there had been something else in Heykibi's manner that had never sat well with Zaraki. It was almost as if the sword smith had been trying to woo the weapon, to offer what would have been a sweeter existence, a kinder mastership.

It had infuriated Kenpachi then and it still grated on him now.

Whatever confrontations might have occurred between the Gotei 13 and the demon, those had been of little concern to him. He had his eye on the prize, not out of any sense of obligation to Soul Society, but because he now had a legitimate reason to take on the man who had denigrated him and attempted to coax his zanpakuto away from him.

But he had to find him first.

Zaraki was certain that Captain Kurotsuchi and Squad Twelve would have already been scanning for Heykibi's reiatsu signature. Maybe they had already found him. Yet, somehow, Zaraki knew that was not the case. Intuition? Or the fact that his own mind was as devious as the man he sought?

Heykibi had to know that, so long as he stayed in Soul Society, he was trackable – unless he was able to change his signature, and Kenpachi could not fully discount that possibility, given Heykibi's handiness with reiatsu. And so it seemed most likely that Heykibi was not in Soul Society. If that were the case, there were only so many possibilities where he could have gone.

And Zaraki Kenpachi intended to track him down, no matter which option he had chosen.

Or how long it took.

* * *

"Are you okay?"

Hoozukimaru looked up from where he was sitting atop a hardened lava flow that had the appearance of black clouds billowing up from among the greenery of the surrounding jungle.

It was unlike his master to make such an inquiry, to show concern over something as intangible as his zanpakuto's feelings. But given the circumstances, it was appropriate, even if unexpected.

"Yeah," the dragon replied.

"I know what he meant to you," Ikkaku offered.

Hoozukimaru gave a curt nod but said nothing.

After several seconds, Ikkaku went on. "I didn't know he had the ability to bring Yumichika back to life. And even if I had known, I . . . I wouldn't have expected him to do it. There was so much misery between them."

"What's done is done," Hoozukimaru stated in a neutral tone.

Ikkaku looked at him with probing eyes. "Do you blame me for what happened?"

Sometimes Hoozukimaru could not believe the idiocy of his master. "No, I don't blame you," he replied. "You didn't create the demon."

"But if I hadn't turned Yumichika away, he wouldn't have been alone out there and—"

"The demon would have gone after him wherever he'd been, because it wanted Ruri'iro Kujaku," Hoozukimaru replied. "It wouldn't have made a difference where Little Pretty was or who he was with." A pause. "Besides, it wasn't your idea for Ruri'iro Kujaku to sacrifice himself to save Little Pretty. You didn't even know he could do it. Neither did I. It was his own idea, and . . . and I don't blame you for that. I don't blame him, either. He did want he wanted to do, and at least . . . at least I still have one of them, instead of neither of them. And when you made that promise to Ruri'iro Kujaku, you included me in that obligation. I'm going to make sure you keep it."

Ikkaku was speechless.

"_At least I still have one of them . . . "_

Hoozukimaru's devotion to Ruri'iro Kujaku apparently was so strong that it would now appear in his devotion to Yumichika.

Ikkaku suddenly realized that he was not alone in what he was undertaking. He would not have to navigate the upcoming trials by himself. He would not be the sole source of comfort and protection for Yumichika. In fact, he had the best possible companion for such a task.

And at that moment, he was certain that he was in possession of the most amazing zanpakuto ever to come forth from a man's soul. Steady, solid, dependable . . . and possessed of a magnanimous spirit that softened the more brutal aspects his character – Hoozukimaru was the reflection of those things Ikkaku could rarely find in himself.

"And mark my words," Hoozukimaru was saying. "If you go off the rails, I'll drag you back kicking and screaming."

Ikkaku gave a tiny grin. "That won't happen this time."

"Not if I can help it," Hoozukimaru warned. "But you've blown it before, so don't get over sure of yourself." A pause. "I know you don't realize it, but staying faithful to anything is something you have to work at. It doesn't come naturally, you know. Just because you make a promise doesn't mean you're automatically able to keep it. You have to work on it and . . . sometimes, you have to make sacrifices."

"I know—"

"No, no you don't," the dragon interrupted. "Because if you'd known that, you never would have left him in Venla. You never would have cast him off when you found out about the kido. You made promises to stay with him, and when things got tough, you gave up." He jumped down from the lava flow. "You'll stick with a fight, no matter what the odds, until it's over. But you can't keep a promise to the end." He leaned close. "Well, I'm here to help you keep this one, because it's my promise, too." A pause. "He's waking up again. You should go back."

"You can sense that?" Ikkaku asked, surprised.

Hoozukimaru nodded. "I know Little Pretty almost as well as you do." A pause. "You have Ruri'iro Kujaku to thank for that."

Ikkaku prepared to return to the outside world, but before doing so, he turned once more to Hoozukimaru. "You know . . . I . . . I'm lucky to have you."

"You're damned right."

Ikkaku opened his eyes onto the Squad Four ornamental garden, where he had retreated to engage in the jinzen. He was surprised to see a veil of sparse snowflakes falling outside the gazebo where he was sitting. He hadn't realized it was cold enough for snow; it certainly didn't feel that way.

He guessed that it was close to noon, which meant he hadn't really been in his inner world for very long, and the fact that the ground was not even showing a light dusting meant that the snow must have started only in the past thirty minutes.

He stood up and prepared to return to the hospital.

Two days had passed since Yumichika had come to his senses, but he'd been largely asleep since then. Ikkaku, after his talk with Captain Unohana, had returned to Yumichika's room and stayed there until the following morning, when the nurses had kicked him out during their rounds. They'd kicked him out again this morning.

That was when he'd finally scrounged up the courage to approach Hoozukimaru. He'd actually been afraid of what such an encounter might entail, for Hoozukimaru had every right to be angry at him. The fact that he wasn't was yet another occasion for Ikkaku to count his blessings.

He got to his feet and walked slowly back towards the hospital, contemplating what an early winter would mean. It would necessitate putting off the departure from the Seireitei, for who wanted to travel in the cold and snow? Then again, Captain Unohana had made it clear that it would be quite some time before Yumichika were fit for travel; so even with mild weather, it might be spring before they could set out.

That was fine. A month—even two months—would be acceptable, even preferable, and give Ikkaku the time he needed to check on certain things that needed to fall into place before he was willing to take Yumichika anywhere.

Some of those things he could check out right now, before returning to Yumichika's bedside.

He could be in Mito in thirty minutes using shunpo. Perhaps, by the time he returned, Yumichika would be awake again. And with any luck, Ikkaku would be able to bring him good news.

He leaped up onto the roof of one of the Squad Four buildings, looked south and was on his way. It took him a little longer than thirty minutes. When he arrived, he set down on the strip of open ground between the village and the sea. He spared the village only a glance, seeing that it was still in ruins. As if he had not hated it enough, now, after the battle, his loathing of it had expanded as the place where Yumichika had been mortally wounded. The miracle of Ruri'iro Kujaku's bringing him back to life did nothing to lessen Ikkaku's aversion. He despised the place and always would.

He headed for the docks, and as he drew nearer he could make out the stooped form of a man pulling a heavy rowboat onto the shore. He quickened his pace, announcing his arrival by taking hold of the other side of the bow and helping to pull it clear of the water.

Kaekae looked up, startled. "Madarame-san! Ya still 'live!" He reached out and slapped him on the shoulder.

Ikkaku grinned. "I should have known _you'd_ still be alive."

A chuckle escaped the old man's lips.

"How did you avoid the demons?" Ikkaku asked. "I saw them here on the shore. There were dozens of them. How were you not attacked?"

"Eh, wha's an ole bonebag like me gots for the likes a' them? Ain' 'nough spirit en'gy here ta fill a flea." He did not waste a second more in small talk. "Where's Ayasegawa-san? I heard 'e was bad 'urt."

"He's back in the Seireitei recovering," Ikkaku replied. "He was seriously injured, but he's getting better." A pause. "One of the first things he asked when he regained consciousness was whether or not you were okay. I thought I'd better come and find out."

"Ya tell 'im I'm fine," Kaekae said. "And then ya tell 'im ya gonna stay wi' im."

Ikkaku felt a smile tugging at his lips. "I _am_ going to stay with him, Kaekae."

The boatman appeared taken aback for a moment. That had been easier than he'd imagined. He'd expected an argument, or at least a firm deferral.

"So, ya fine'ly came a ya senses," he nodded. "Good, good."

Ikkaku leaned against the side of the boat. "Are you going to stay here?"

Kaekae regarded him as if the very question were ludicrous. "Course I am. Where else I'd go?"

"You could come with me and Yumichika," Ikkaku replied. "As soon as he's well enough to travel, I'm taking him away from the Seireitei."

Kaekae thought the very idea was humorous and out of the question. "Ma life is 'ere on this sea. Ya two don' need no crotchety ole sea-goat in ya biz-ness."

"I know Yumichika would be happy to have you nearby," Ikkaku persisted.

"Ayasegawa always knows where ta fine me if 'e needs me," Kaekae replied.

"Well . . . he'll be glad to know you're safe at any rate, and you'll always be welcome, you know that." Ikkaku hesitated. "Do you know . . . do you know if . . . was Hinsamoi killed in the attack?"

"E' ain't been seen since," Kaekae answered. "I don' know if 'e was killed, but 'e was in the village when the 'tack came and no one 'as seen 'im after that."

Ikkaku nodded. "The others?"

"Lots of folks died, Madarame-san," Kaekae replied. "I'm a not keep count or names."

Ikkaku understood, and he felt macabre for even wondering about it.

"Take care, Kaekae," he said, straightening up and preparing to leave. "Somehow, I don't think this will be the last time we see each other."

He had one more place to visit before returning to the Seireitei.

* * *

It was mid-afternoon when Ikkaku returned to the hospital.

He found Yumichika still sleeping, but the nurses on duty assured him that everything had been quiet in his absence. Yumichika's vital signs were holding steady, and it was expected that he would spend a lot of time sleeping as his soul attempted to regenerate its reiatsu.

Matsumoto had been there when he first arrived, but she departed about thirty minutes later, having come straight to the hospital after coming off-duty and now feeling the need to go back to her own quarters and get some rest – or something to drink.

Within a few minutes after Ikkaku had sat down and made himself comfortable, Yumichika drew in a deep breath, signaling his return to wakefulness. A few seconds later, he opened his eyes.

"I take it you got some good sleep," Ikkaku stated, at which shifted his gaze to him. "It's been two days."

Yumichika raised his brows. "Really? Then I guess it was good."

"I have some news for you," Ikkaku announced anxiously. "While you were asleep, I went back to Mito to check on Kaekae. He's fine. He wasn't even injured in the attack."

Yumichika gave an audible sigh. "Oh, that's a relief."

"Yeah. And he was glad to know that you're going to be okay," Ikkaku went on.

A brief silence followed as Yumichika glanced around the room as much as his limited strength would allow. At last, he asked, "Where is Ruri'iro Kujaku? Can you bring him to me?"

Ikkaku blanched and felt as if his body had turned to stone. He had not been expecting this question. In fact, he'd been hoping to hold off on the topic of Ruri'iro Kujaku for as long as was reasonably and credibly possible.

"I, uh . . . we can, uh, we can talk about that later," he stammered clumsily.

"I just want to . . . I need to hold him," Yumichika said, and there was something unsettling in his voice. "I need to feel him in my hands, because I . . . I can't sense his reiatsu. At all." He looked at Ikkaku and there was abject dread creeping into his eyes. "And when I tried to go to my inner world, I couldn't. It was as if—as if it didn't even exist anymore."

"Yumichika—"

"I'm afraid something's happened to him," Yumichika went on. "I can always feel his reiatsu. This isn't right."

Ikkaku was frozen. What was he to do?

"_Tell him."_

Hoozukimaru's voice inside his head helped to calm his twisting innards.

"Yumichika . . . Ruri'iro Kujaku is gone," he said evenly, although he was unable to maintain eye contact as he spoke the final words.

Yumichika, already pale, now went ashen. It took him a few seconds to find his voice. "What do you mean, gone?"

"I know you don't remember much about the battle, but Ruri'iro Kujaku defeated the enemy," Ikkaku began awkwardly. "We—we all thought he had been destroyed when he went inside the creature and it disappeared. No one saw him after that, and all—all that was left was the hilt—"

"Ruri'iro Kujaku couldn't be destroyed by something like that," Yumichika cut him off, his voice dangerously on edge for someone still recovering from grievous wounds. He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself of his words than as if he truly believed them.

Ikkaku nodded nervously. "You're right, you're right. But we—we didn't know that. We thought he'd been destroyed, and you—you—Yumichika, you were hurt so badly, there was nothing they could do for you. Even Captain Unohana couldn't restore your reiatsu." He paused and swallowed. "We all thought you were going to die." He saw Yumichika looking at him with round eyes, filled with fear and trepidation; and he felt his own courage slipping away. He had to say it now, plain and simple, straightforward and without any attempt at couching it in gentle terms, or he would never be able to tell him. "But Ruri'iro Kujaku wasn't destroyed in the battle. He came back and . . . and . . . "

Just when all the lies had been put to rest, here he was about to initiate a whole new deception. No! No, he couldn't do it. After all the dishonesty of the past hundred plus years, he did not want to add more to it. And yet, this was not his own personal decision to withhold the truth. This was directed by no less a Soul Reaper than Head Captain Yamamoto himself and sanctioned by Captain Unohana. Even Captains Ukitake and Kyoraku were a part of it. Dare he go against such paragons?

" . . . he healed you," he concluded.

So, he had made his decision. He would keep the secret in the hope that one day, it would either no longer matter or that he might be able to reveal it to Yumichika without fear of the dreadful repercussions portended by those with more wisdom than him.

"But—but then where is he?" Yumichika's voice was trembling.

"He had to use all his spirit energy to save you," Ikkaku replied. Now that he had committed himself to a certain subterfuge, he felt a sense of calm that came through in his answer.

"That's not possible," Yumichika protested, and he was growing agitated. "He—he was much more powerful than I was. He had more spirit energy than I did—"

"Not according to him," Ikkaku replied. "He said his own spirit energy never came close to yours. He also said something about how he had to use a lot of his spirit energy to break free when you tried to protect him . . . "

"Break free? What—what are you talking about?" Yumichika asked, and his entire body was shaking now.

There was a burst of light as Hoozukimaru manifested, and his appearance brought complete silence to the room.

The dragon stood beside the bed and eyed him with knowing earnest. "Ayasegawa-san . . . you know what he's talking about," the dragon said quietly. "The very thing you used to employ to hold Ruri'iro Kujaku back ended up being the same thing you used to save him. He said you were afraid he was going to be destroyed, and so you sent him into one of the cages even as he destroyed the demon. You don't remember?"

Yumichika stared at him without speaking. He truly did not remember. He recalled very little about the last moments of the battle, other than the sound of Ikkaku's voice, browbeating and pleading with him to say the release command . . .

He did not even recall if he had, in fact, spoken the command. Clearly, he had, but what had followed thereupon—of that, he had no recollection.

Hoozukimaru went on. "He had to break free of the cage before he could come save you. That took a lot of his energy, and he . . . he ended up destroying the shrine to do it. What energy he had left was only enough to bring you to the state you are in now." His voice caught. "He didn't think he had enough energy to help you, but he . . . " He stopped and took a deep breath. How difficult this was. "He just needed to find his courage. And he did."

This was too much for Yumichika to accept. "How—how could he destroy the shrine? That was the source of his power!" He pushed feebly up onto his elbows. "Where is he?!"

"Yumichika, take it easy," Ikkaku said, pressing him down. "You'll hurt yourself if you get too excited—"

"He can't be gone," Yumichika continued to protest. "He can't be! He's my zanpakuto, and if I'm alive, he has to be alive!"

Hoozukimaru knew that his master was thinking the same thing that he was: that the relationship between Yumichika and Ruri'iro Kujaku had been anything but the normal relationship between a zanpakuto and his master. Not only had Ruri'iro Kujaku outlived Yumichika, but now Yumichika had outlived his zanpakuto. The way of things, taken so long for granted, had been thrown on its head by recent events; and now, nothing made sense anymore.

Adding to the pathetic bent of the whole situation was the undeniable fact that Yumichika was only now mourning the loss of a weapon he had been ready to cast off into oblivion just a few days earlier.

"Yumichika, please, calm down," Ikkaku begged, but he needn't have said anything.

Yumichika was not strong enough for the exertion and he slumped back onto the bed, drawing in breath after wavering breath. "No," he moaned wretchedly. "It's impossible. He can't be gone."

Ikkaku glanced up at Hoozukimaru and gave him an unspoken command to return.

Hoozukimaru complied.

Ikkaku still had his hands on Yumichika's shoulders, but he was no longer holding him down. He was, instead, trying to offer comfort. He spoke softly. "He made me promise something before he disappeared. He made me promise that I would never abandon you again."

Yumichika regarded him without speaking.

"I know I've broken my promises before," Ikkaku went on. "But not this time." He waited for Yumichika to say something, to give some kind of reaction; but none was forthcoming.

Yumichika lowered his eyes. He seemed numb or disinterested, although Ikkaku knew he could not be the latter. He imagined that the news of Ruri'iro Kujaku's demise was crowding out every other consideration, and Yumichika's despondency was the result of that news.

"Yumichika?"

After a brief hesitation, Yumichika spoke in a whisper. "I need to be alone for a bit."

Ikkaku understood this. He nodded slightly. "Okay." He got to his feet. "I'll be back in an hour or two."

The moment Ikkaku was gone, Yumichika tried again and again to enter his inner world. But there was nothing there—nothing he could find, at any rate. Still, he refused to believe that Ruri'iro Kujaku no longer existed. Such a vibrant power could not be extinguished. It was inconceivable.

And yet, he could not deny that there was an emptiness inside him, a large, sweeping hole that had not existed before. The self-confidence, the certainty of his own allure—they had always been present. Now, he had not even a tacit impression of them. Everything that had made him desirable, graceful, and erotic seemed to have been carved out and removed from his soul.

But was it really so? Or was he talking himself into a mindset out of fear for what he might have lost?

And how could he be so broken up over the loss—the possible loss—of a zanpakuto he had never wanted in the first place? For the better part of the last hundred years, he'd been bemoaning his sad situation as master of a weapon that did not suit him, that did not belong in his squad, and that could never afford him the sense of belonging that a physical-type zanpakuto could have provided.

Damn it! He'd hated Ruri'iro Kujaku! A deep, visceral hatred that had permeated every aspect of his life . . . and all because of his own weakness. His own cowardice. And now, he here was, feeling as if his soul had been hollowed out from the inside! He was being forced to admit that the vacancy was that left by the dissolution of Ruri'iro Kujaku.

No. No, he would not accept that. Ruri'iro Kujaku was not gone. He was just . . . unreachable for the time-being. Time and diligence would return him to a place where Yumichika could find him. Yumichika only had to be patient.

And given his physical condition, the requisite patience would be forced upon him. Time stretched out before him into eternity, and if that's how long it took for him to recover Ruri'iro Kujaku, then so be it.

If Ikkaku had been able to admit his mistakes to Yumichika, Yumichika was not above admitting his own mistakes, which were all the more grievous, to Ruri'iro Kujaku.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Dear Reader, This is the final chapter in The Peacock series. It's a short one, and a little sugary - so diabetics, beware! Now, you might be thinking, "How is TK going to resolve everything in 3,000 words?" Well . . . I'm not. You see, as I prepared The Peacock for online posting, I added in all sorts of things which were not in the original version, and now those things need to be resolved/answered. In addition, I've been writing another Yumichika/Ikkaku story that was going to be a complete stand-alone. But now, I've decided to just weave them both together. So, where this series ends, another series (as yet unnamed) will pick up, and all will be resolved. Needless to say, since I am meshing two very distinct stories together, I have some major rewrites to do of the new story. It may be a few weeks before the first part of the next story goes up. At any rate, I'd like to say thanks to everyone who read The Peacock. I've had a lot of fun writing it and reading the reviews. So, bis gleich! TK**_

Chapter 11 The Return Home

_In the east, as we journey on our way,  
__The dawning of the day, let me walk by your side,  
__Take me back where no frozen heart remains,  
__No sorrow and no shame.  
_

_The Eastern Sun  
_Justin Hayward

_Picture the wings that take you home,  
__Home to the love you need.  
__That's what you need._

_Island  
_Justin Hayward

* * *

Such a rainy afternoon. The kind of early spring downpour that quickly saturated the ground and formed ever-expanding puddles on the dirt walkways and the grass lawns. The sky was grey from end to end, but not the kind of dull, monotonous grey that drove the people to depression; rather, it was a textured gray, lighter in some areas, darker in others, constantly shifting beneath the high altitude winds that swirled above the cloud banks.

From his hospital room, Yumichika thought it looked beautiful, and he longed to be outside in it.

But Captain Unohana would never permit him to go outside unescorted. Even after nearly four months, he was still too weak for such a venture; and since there was no one available to go with him, he resigned himself to a comfortable seat on the broad window sill where he could at least enjoy the view.

A single knock at the door briefly preceded Ikkaku's entrance. He was no longer a Shinigami, and so he did not wear the uniform. Thankfully—at least as far as Yumichika was concerned—he had not gone back to wearing the vulgarly short kosode-type outfit that had been his preference back when they had first met. Instead, he wore a longer, sleeveless kosode of a vile green color over a black hakama. It was not what Yumichika considered flattering, but it preserved Ikkaku's decency.

Since resigning his position in Squad Eleven, Ikkaku had been staying at the transient billets, but he spent little time there. Most of his waking hours were passed in Yumichika's hospital room. He had set his focus on helping Yumichika recover as quickly as possible, but it had soon become apparent that the process could not be hurried. Or rather, Captain Unohana did not want to speed up Yumichika's recovery of his reiatsu. She seemed to think that it was best for Yumichika to regain his spirit energy at a natural rate, with no interference from outside sources.

Progress was painfully slow, but it was steady and that was a good thing. The forced waiting had allowed Yumichika to absorb the events of the last four months whilst in the company and comfort of friends. Even so, he still had not come to terms with the loss of Ruri'iro Kujaku. He managed to keep an expression of serenity on his face, but the underlying melancholy always played through. It seemed that the more time that passed, the harder it became for him to believe that the peacock could still be in existence somewhere. Yet, he was not willing to consign Ruri'iro Kujaku to death quite yet, as if admitting such a thing would make it so. He was not prepared to do that.

In fact, in the midst of so much loss and chaos, the possibility of Ruri'iro Kujaku still being alive was one of only two threads Yumichika could hold onto. The revelation of Heykibi's treachery had been distressing enough, but news of Mendalo's death had sent him reeling into the depths of despair and mourning. Only Ikkaku's persistent attention and consolation had kept him from tumbling over the edge into despondency.

Now, four months later, Yumichika appeared to be over the worst of the agonies of mind, but he was far from _recovered._

Ikkaku walked over to stand by the window where Yumichika was sitting. "Whatcha looking at?"

"The last of the snow is finally melted. The rain washed it all away," Yumichika replied, continuing to gaze out the window.

Ikkaku paused a moment before stating, "And that means it's time we should be going away."

Yumichika looked up at him with uncertainty. "Are you sure about this, Ikkaku? I know how much it meant to you to be here serving under Captain Zaraki. I know how happy you are here. Are you really sure you want to leave?"

Ikkaku's answer was immediate and unequivocal. "I'm positive."

Yumichika did not contest his assertion. He had listened to Ikkaku speak of little else for the past four months.

"Where will we go?" he asked, drawing his legs up to his chest so Ikkaku could sit down on the window sill.

"I have a few ideas in mind," Ikkaku replied.

"You know I can only walk five or ten minutes without having to rest," Yumichika reminded him.

"I know. And it's not a problem." He stood back up. "Come on, I want to show you something." He helped Yumichika out of the room, down the hall, and outside into the meager shelter of a door awning. He could not help but notice how thin and frail Yumichika still was, and he wondered how long it would be until he put a little weight back on and regained the perfection that had once been his hallmark.

Ikkaku got a firm one-armed grip around Yumichika's waist and said, "Hold on."

Ikkaku was proficient at flashstep, even if his travel was rough and jerky. With Yumichika's added weight, little though it was, he was almost as clumsy as a bird trying to fly with an oversized twig in its beak.

He went towards the southern edge of the Gotei 13 area and settled down outside a small wooden warehouse. He opened the door and they went inside, and here there was a cart, laden with provisions, a canvas tarp over the top . . .

"It's just like the one Kaekae gave us," Yumichika said, stepping inside.

"Very similar."

"And it's already loaded . . . "

"Except for perishables and anything you might want to bring," Ikkaku nodded, feeling that he had done a good, thorough job.

"Oh, but that's a lot of work for you, Ikkaku," Yumichika deferred. "Wouldn't it be easier to do what you just did? You could carry me bit by bit using flashstep. It would be a lot faster."

Ikkaku faced him in the rain-dimmed light coming into the warehouse. "I don't want to go fast. I want to take our time, see the places we're traveling through, slow things down for once." He went over to the cart and checked the security of some of the supplies tethered to it. "We can get to know each other again. And maybe recapture some of what it felt like the first time we did this."

Yumichika grinned, and it was genuine. "I didn't know you had those kinds of thoughts."

"What kind of thoughts?"

"Sentimental. Nostalgic."

Ikkaku gave a half-grin, half-smirk. "Yeah, well . . . don't get used to it. Deep down, I'm still that crude, manner-less asshole at the well."

"That goes without saying," Yumichika quipped. "But, you know, I kind of liked that guy." He walked over and examined the cart. "Looks like you've thought of everything."

"Just about. We can leave any time you want."

"It will be messy traveling at this time of year."

Ikkaku continued to inspect the job he had done packing the cart. "Un-huh. Just like it was last time, or have you forgotten the floods and the mud and constant rain?"

It was funny, because he was complaining, yet he sounded excited and anxious.

"You're looking forward to this, aren't you?" Yumichika posed.

"Yeah. I guess I am," came the staid reply.

"You won't be sad to leave here?" Yumichika pressed.

"Sure I will," Ikkaku shrugged. "But the thought of good things to come outweighs the sadness." He looked away self-consciously. "Besides, I finally figured out that . . . if you're not here, I don't want to be here."

That was all the convincing Yumichika needed. "So . . . when are we getting started?"

* * *

Captain Unohana cleared him for travel. Yumichika had feared she might present a hurdle to his departure, considering how she had watched him like a hawk when he was a patient; but Ikkaku knew better. He knew that Unohana was convinced that the best thing for Yumichika was to get as far away from the Seireitei as possible, in the company of someone who would look after and love him. And she believed that Madarame, despite his failures in the past, would fit that bill quite nicely.

Yumichika had never been put off by good-byes. The sorrow of parting ways had always appeared in the light of new experiences. It was the same this time. Rangiku, Yachiru, Iba, Captains Ukitake and Kyoraku. They, among others, had all come by to say their farewells once they'd heard that the departure was imminent. Even Shuhei had come by, fumbling through a good-bye that was as clumsy as it was charming.

Ikkaku had made a point of going to see Captain Zaraki, although catching him in garrison was not an easy task, for he spent much of his time—and the squad's resources—searching for any clue as to Heykibi's whereabouts. But he happened to be in garrison at the moment, and Ikkaku went to see him. It was a strange situation, Ikkaku having resigned his commission four months ago, now facing the man who had once been his captain and in whom he still saw so much to admire.

But he'd learned the hard way that admiration wasn't enough.

It had been a cordial enough meeting. Zaraki felt no sense of loss, other than that of seeing yet another good fighter depart. He'd not said a word about Yumichika or his single-handed defeat of the demon. It was clear that his aversion to kido was unchanged by events. Ikkaku held nothing against him. After all, it was not Zaraki who had changed, but rather Ikkaku.

Zaraki's parting words reminded Ikkaku of the man's single-mindedness.

"If you hear or see anything of Heykibi, you send me word. Got it?"

Ikkaku nodded once. "Got it."

With that, he took leave of his former captain, and he was quite sure he would never see him again.

* * *

They set out on a cold morning—not cold enough to bring the frost, but enough to make their breath visible in the slanting sunlight.

Yumichika insisted that he start out on foot, and he managed to get along well for the first fifteen minutes, which was longer than either of them had expected. Because the cart had been housed right at the border of the Seireitei, they were immediately beyond its walls as soon as they set out. Being outside the Seireitei, moving leisurely through the thin band of poplar trees that ran east to west just south of the city, then following the dirt road that ran alongside the tiny river Eitei, nodding a greeting to the workers in the fields, passing fellow travellers headed north . . . Ikkaku felt comfortable and at peace. He had no regrets about his decision. And seeing Yumichika walking beside him, quiet but clearly content, he knew he had done the right thing.

And he would continue to do so.

For two months, they headed due south, passing through villages, avoiding the larger towns and cities. Yumichika was able to walk a little longer each day, but Ikkaku was careful not to let him overdo it, and so Yumichika spent far more time in the cart than on his feet. When the weather was nice, they would pull the tarp back, and Yumichika would sit at the front, where he could watch and comment on their travel. When the weather turned wet, up went the tarp, and Ikkaku would climb in the back to rest while the weather passed.

It was those moments, lying beside Yumichika under the cover of the tarp with the sound of rain and thunder overhead, feeling the strength of the wind as it rattled and nudged at the cart, a profound sense of peace settled over Ikkaku's soul. He knew those moments were the makings of enduring, favorite memories. It amazed him just how far he had strayed from the recollections of how it felt to lay by Yumichika's side, to hear him breath, to feel the beat of his heart.

But what amazed him the most was that all the sensations he was recovering were coming to him without the benefit of Yumichika's most powerful weapon.

The seduction was gone.

Completely and utterly gone.

To be sure, Yumichika's beauty remained, still tarnished from his ordeal but regaining its luster bit by bit every day. But it was _only_ beauty. The feeling of being drawn in, the wanton desire to possess him, the unspoken allure that had always been bubbling just beneath the surface – gone. In fact, if anything, Yumichika now appeared to have grown shy and taciturn, indifferent to his physical beauty, and disinterested in the physicality he had formerly displayed.

All of which was perfectly acceptable to Ikkaku. He no longer had to wonder if his attraction to Yumichika was of his own making or if it were due to Yumichika turning on his ability. On top of that, while he missed certain aspects of Yumichika's arrogance and narcissism, the greater part of him reveled in the company of someone who now, unlike before, made his need known.

So passed the days for nearly two months, as they traveled further south and then, crossing the mighty river Goet on a cable-drawn ferry, they headed east.

After two more weeks of travel, Yumichika recognized the line of the eastern horizon, the hazy outline of jagged mountains. He said nothing as they journeyed nearer and nearer, and he even managed to hold his silence once they turned due south again and started up the well-worn track on the north-facing side of a mountain Yumichika knew like the back of his hand.

"Is there a reason we're going up the mountain instead of through the valley?" he asked.

Ikkaku was grinning. "Of course, and you know the reason."

"Is this part of the nostalgic journey?"

"No, this is the present. And the future."

Yumichika could barely contain his joy, although it was tempered with caution. "We're . . . coming here to stay?"

"Yep."

"But—but what about your father? If he—"

"He's gone. While you were recuperating, I came and checked everything out before deciding to come here. I found out my father has been gone for years. No one knows where. I'm sure he's still out there looking for me. I also learned that the cottage is empty. I guess no one wants to live on the mountain and deal with the hike and the winters and . . . all that stuff. I went to see it. It needs some work, but it's not in bad shape. The villagers all offered to fix it up and get it ready for us, but I told them we'd take care of it. It'll give us something to do."

Yumichika was speechless.

"So, is this a good decision?" Ikkaku asked.

Yumichika nodded. "A very good decision."

Up the mountain they went, taking the zig-zag trail to where it met with another trail coming from the other side of the mountain, nearly half-way to the summit. Here they took the other trail, and by late afternoon on that warm day in mid-June, they entered the meadow above Venla.

Yumichika climbed out of the cart, walked halfway across the tall grass and stopped to turn and look about him.

Time seemed not to have touched the place, other than the state of disrepair of the human aspects of it: the cottage, the garden, the wash porch. All of nature's finery was intact and as resplendent as ever.

The pines reached up in green majesty against the deepening blue sky. The grass waved gently in the westerly breeze. Bird song filled the air. Could there be a more perfect place?

Yumichika walked slowly to the cottage ruins. Ikkaku had been right. It wasn't in such bad shape. The roof was in shambles, parts of the walls needed repairing, but it was still a sturdy structure. He stepped inside and a broad smile spread across his face. A large twig basket sat on the floor by the blackened hearth. It was filled with fruits and vegetables, some salted meat, two loaves of bread tightly wrapped in burlap, and a jug of what could only be the local's malt.

Yumichika turned to see Ikkaku in the doorway. "Did you sneak away while I was sleeping and put this here?"

"Neh," Ikkaku replied, "But yesterday, while you were sleeping, I flashed over to Venla and let Yenset know we would be arriving today. He must have brought it up here. You know, they were all very excited that we were coming back. Yenset even offered me my old job back." A pause. "I wanted to come back here, because I knew this was where you were the happiest. And I was happy here, too."

"Ikkaku . . . I . . . I . . . " Yumichika stammered. At length, he pulled himself together. "I need to be sure this is really what you want." He drew on one of his fondest memories. "It won't be easy here. It'll be a lot of hard work."

Ikkaku smiled. He knew the memory. "I like hard work."

"The winters will be very cold." Yumichika reminded him.

"Not inside."

"No luxuries—"

"You can turn any place into a thing of beauty."

Yumichika was touched that Ikkaku recalled the conversation. "Then you're really sure?"

"Positive."

"Then I guess we'd better to start to unload some of this stuff before it gets dark," Yumichika suggested.

As it turned out, little got unloaded. Instead, they both went to the mountain stream to bathe and bring fresh water back to the cottage. Then as Yumichika rested, Ikkaku brought in a bamboo floor mat and some blankets and placed them in front of the hearth. As the sun began to set and the temperature dropped, he started a fire. They had a light dinner from the basket provided by the villagers, then they both laid down to sleep.

As the fire grew low, Ikkaku pulled Yumichika close to him. "Tell me if you get cold."

Above them, through the gaping hole in the roof, the sky was filled with stars. During his entire time in the Gotei 13, Yumichika had not had the time or inclination to look at the stars. During his penance in Mito, his frame of mind would never have permitted star-gazing. But here, lying in Ikkaku's warm embrace, he felt as if this place and this moment had been made just for him.

"I'd forgotten what the night sky looked like," he said quietly. From somewhere nearby, a Wood Pewee called up, "tee-up, tee-up" as if in agreement. "I can see heaven."

Ikkaku knew the feeling. He tightened his embrace. "Me, too. Here, in my arms."

Yumichika craned his head up and smiled. "That's pretty sappy for you."

"Are you trying to ruin the moment?"

"Nothing could ruin this moment," Yumichika replied. He was silent a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice had the smooth tenor of someone who had come safely to the end of a long journey. "I feel like I'm back home."

Ikkaku felt the mountain night all around them.

"You are home," he whispered. "Our home."

* * *

_**For those who recall from Part I, the conversation Ikkaku and Yumichika have at the end of this chapter is the same conversation they had upon first arriving in the meadow in Venla, only the lines were reversed. **_


End file.
